If anyone ever asked—Looking at you, Dorian—it didn't hurt much. Just a scratch. Nothing he couldn't handle.

Just a scratch...

... That was on the inside of him. Don't think that's how it's supposed to work.

His mind had stopped making sense about halfway down the hall. That's also when his comprehension of time had begun to wane.

But it was fine. They'd get out of there sooner or later, and then he'd catch a ride to the hospital.

"The shock will set in within the hour."

Right.

Maybe pulling the knife out hadn't been such a million dollar idea after all, but John preferred this—whatever this is—to sitting tied to a chair and slowly bleeding out.

This, it turned out, was escaping, and now instead of slowly, he was quickly bleeding out.

Puts us on a time crunch. He felt Dorian's grip tighten around his shoulders. I always worked better under pressure, anyway.

Less than five minutes. For a severe knife wound, Dorian said the average person could bleed to death in under five minutes.

Good thing I'm not an average person.

And good thing Dorian had seen fit to wrap the wound with his jacket; to apply enough pressure to slow the bleeding.

So I'm not bleeding out fast. John adjusted his grip on Dorian and forced his feet to work better. He was getting to be disappointed in them and their incessant stumbling. I'm bleeding out slow…

Which still meant losing unhealthy amounts of blood any way you looked at it.

Killjoy.

The morse code had stopped long ago, probably around the time Dorian had tapped to John that his sentences were beginning to lack the proper vowels.

Whatever.

He couldn't tell if they were going the right way, they just seemed to be going. Whichever halls and turns got them further away from their captors…

Was it bad that his face stung more from being backhanded than his side did from being stabbed? Probably.

If Dorian knew where they were going, then that was all right with him. John trusted the android to get them where they needed to go. Which is...?

Furrowing his brows, he glanced at his partner. When had he come to trust the guy so implicitly? With his secrets, his quirks, his life, his everything.

Maybe he's just growing on you.

No, Dorian had long passed that stage. There was a certain word typically used to describe what he was, but John's hazy brain couldn't think of it, so it sat there on the tip of his tongue where it would burn a hole until identified.

Climbing the stairs was a hellish nightmare, but somehow they made it. Dorian's face bled concern every time John stumbled and nicked his knee on a step. Then, his grip would tighten and he would half-help, half-carry John until the latter regained his footing.

All the while, John wondered if they were close enough to the surface for their trackers to come back online.

With our luck, probably not.

But if Sandra could find them before their captors did…

He tried asking Dorian, but his hand slumped after only a few taps as a wave of dizziness washed over him.

They still couldn't speak, couldn't take that chance. There might be bugs everywhere.

But shouldn't there be cameras, too?

He hadn't seen any, but then again, his vision wasn't the most trustworthy right now.

Dorian scanned him once every five minutes or so.

Five minutes… That's all he was supposed to have, according to Dorian's endless statistics. "It's possible to bleed out within five minutes, John."

And yet, here he was, still stumbling through the halls.

Stumbling to… nowhere. They were going nowhere, and they weren't going there very fast at all.

Something was poking at his side. His right, not the left. Not the one that felt like a red hot fire poker was digging into his skin. Like someone was taking it and jerking it up and down and back and forth and—

The poking turned into a light jab, just sharp enough to grab his attention. A lazy glance to the side revealed Dorian's pinched, now somewhat blurry features.

Maybe if John blinked harder, he could clear up the picture a little…

With Dorian's eyes locked on him, the poking on his side made more sense. His partner was trying to tell him something, he just… couldn't figure out what.

If he twisted his face in confusion hard enough, maybe Dorian would get the message. He just… he couldn't tell if he was doing it right or not.

The poking stopped as Dorian pointed at the hall behind them. Though it took more effort than he would've liked—weak, stop being so weak, you're fine—John craned his neck around to look.

Oh.

They were leaving a trail of blood. He was leaving a trail, one that anyone could easily follow.

They could be found out within seconds if their captors already hadn't discovered that they'd escaped.

Not yet. We haven't escaped yet.

"You'd be faster alone." The words slipped out past limp lips that hadn't been able to clamp shut quick enough.

He felt Dorian stiffen, eyes darting about for half a second before meeting his gaze.

Clenching his jaw, not only against the pain but the words that wanted so desperately to pour out, John began tapping his fingers against Dorian's shoulder. Judging by the look on the android's face, his morse code was failing him.

What even was morse code? Just a bunch of dots and dashes all meshed together, which was what he was doing. So, why wasn't Dorian getting it?

When Dorian adjusted his grip and tried to keep going, John planted his feet as firmly on the ground as he possibly could. Leaning in closer to Dorian's ear, he whispered so low, he could hardly hear himself.

Good. That means they won't hear you either.

But Dorian will.

"Go on without me."

Dorian's reaction was immediate, a firm shake of the head.

"We'll never make it. 'M a goner anyway, so you just—"

Fixing his eyes on the long hall ahead, Dorian pressed forward.

Ignoring John completely.

Try again in a minute, the voice in the back of his head whispered. Maybe he'll listen then.

If it didn't take so much effort, John would've rolled his eyes. Doubt it.

So, they continued on in silence, with John stumbling more often than not and Dorian's iron grip never failing.

Never fails… He never fails you, does he?

Not that John could recall…

At some point, they turned a corner, but not down another hall. Into some dark room that John couldn't make heads or tails of at first glance. He was fading fast, he knew that much, and when Dorian eased him onto the floor, he thought for sure he was going to black out.

Tilting his head to the side, John watched through a clouded gaze as Dorian barricaded the door with whatever he could find.

"Told you t'leave me behind," he slurred, leaning the back of his head against the wall and letting his eyes slip shut for a second.

Just a second…

"John!" The hand on his shoulder jolted him awake and he blinked until he could at least make out the shadow of Dorian's head.

"'M still here… Where is here…?"

"It's a small computer room of some sort," came Dorian's soft explanation. "I'm going to try to send out a message, but I need you to stay awake, okay?"

A lazy nod was the best he could give. He could already feel his eyes starting to close again.

This time, Dorian snapped his fingers and John jolted.

"It's your turn to tell me something," Dorian said as he ventured to the computers.

John snorted. "What, you need a distraction now?"

"No, I need you to stay awake. Now, tell me something."

Right. But maybe if he just fell asleep, Dorian would leave him behind.

You really want him to do that?

John grit his teeth. No.

But I want him to be okay…

"D'you wann'a statistic or something?" he asked when he caught Dorian glancing back at him again. "'Cause I don't know as many o'those as you do."

"Just tell me something." Maybe it was just the dizziness swimming around John's head, but he could've sworn there was a twinge of anxiety in Dorian's tone. To hear that in the normally calm, grounding android was… unsettling, to say the least.

Unsettling... This whole situation is unsettling.

Downright frightening, if you ask me.

And it wasn't even the thought of dying, though that would probably scare him if he thought too hard about it. No, it was the thought of leaving Dorian here alone; of Dorian not getting out.

You won't die alone here, that whispered voice reminded him. But he will.

"John!"

Startled out of his thoughts, it took him a moment to readjust his weakening grip on reality.

"S'rry… Okay, something… Uh… What kind of dog d'you want?"

"I don't know. A nice big one with soft fur," Dorian replied. "What kind do you want?"

"'M not getting a dog." His fingers were almost stiff with blood when he went to shift the hand that clutched at his side.

How long had he been bleeding through the jacket…?

"Yes, you are." Where once Dorian's tone had held a layer of anxiety, now it was almost too matter of fact—too detached. As if he were trying to distance himself from the situation.

Good. Maybe he'll be less sad that way when I…

Don't say it. He hadn't feared death before, but now his mind had drifted into that murky pool of thought and he couldn't seem to pull it back out again.

Maybe he's just concentrating…

"We're going to get out of here," Dorian continued, "and then you're going to get a dog so you won't be lonely in your apartment."

"'M not lonely…"

"And then I'll come to visit it every day because it will be mine, too, and both of us will get what we want."

John shook his head. "What makes you think I want a dog?"

"What makes you think you don't?"

"That's… That's a dumb answer…"

"John?"

He could feel Dorian shaking his shoulder again, but this time, he just couldn't pry his eyelids back open.

"John! I told you to stay awake! Do you hear me?"

He could have done without the couple of pats to his cheek, though it got his eyes open, so he supposed he could overlook it. For now.

"Come on," Dorian began, slipping his arm underneath John's shoulder, "it's only a matter of time before they find us here."

"Maybe." John tried for a smile. "But they'll have to get through Fort Knox over there first."

It was almost as if he'd forgotten about his handiwork because Dorian glanced at the makeshift barricade and started toward it.

John grabbed hold of his arm. "Look, if I stand up, 'm gonna pass out and you'll end up having t'carry me."

"Then I'll carry you."

"Then you'll never make it out."

Dorian's worked his jaw, a flash of determination dancing across his eyes. "I'm not leaving you. That's not even an option."

"Then just…" John's hand slid off his partner's arm and he patted the space on the floor beside him. "Just sit here with me for a minute."

Though Dorian looked about to protest, he ended up easing down against the wall.

"There," John said. "That's better. When you get out of here, you get that dog and keep 'im in my apartment."

But Dorian was already shaking his head. "I'm not going to live in your apartment. That's where you live. It's yours, John, and it's going to stay yours because we're both getting out of here."

"Make it a friendly, fun kind of dog," John pressed on, choosing to ignore his partner for the time being. "Like… Like some sorta lab or shepherd or something."

"No." Dorian shook his head again. "I don't want to hear this. Now, come on—"

When he went to slip his arm under John's shoulders again, a gentle blood-coated hand stopped him.

"I don't want you to die here alone," John said, adding when Dorian began opening his mouth, "or run out of charge or whatever. Point is, promise me you won't be here alone when the end comes. Promise me you'll get out somehow."

"I promise," Dorian said, swallowing as he clasped an equally red-sheened hand over John's, "because we're both getting out of here."

At this, John let out a chuckle that morphed into a groan. "Sure…"

"Now, come on. We're running out of time."

Only, they both knew there was no "we" in this situation.

It's all me. John sucked in a slow breath. I'm the one whose clock's finally run out…

"Sure, just… Just give me a minute."

"One minute, John," came Dorian's barely audible response. "I'm timing it."

Another chuckle, this one pulling a cough out of John that tore at the hole in his side. But better to go to your grave laughing than crying, right?

He wasn't so sure, really. In that moment, sitting in that dark room behind a barricade that would rival the one in Les Mis, John was only sure about one thing.

If only he could just find the words.

He tightened his grip on Dorian's hand and held fast as his eyes slipped shut once more.

"You know," he began, voice soft, "I never had… Damn, there's a word for it and I… I can't think of it."

"A word for what?"

"For…" John furrowed his brows, wracking his brain for the right term. "For you. For what you are… I mean, for what you are to… to…" The moment it dawned on him was akin to stepping into fresh air and he smiled. "I never had… had a brother before… Never really thought I wanted one when I was a kid, but…" Another cough, this one crawling up his throat with merciless, needle-like claws. "But now that I've got one… I wish you'd come along sooner, or maybe that I'd realized it sooner. Guess it's like that old saying, isn't it?"

Dorian didn't reply right away, and had their hands not been so firmly clamped together, John might have feared the worst.

Eventually, he heard Dorian swallow; felt his grip tighten. "What saying?"

"The one that goes something like, y'never know what you got 'til it's gone."

"No." Dorian squeezed his hand. "I'm not listening to this. You're not gone, John. We're both still here, and I swear, I'm going to get you out of this place."

He knew Dorian wanted to go; to tear down the barricade, grab him off the floor, and then run.

Instead, Dorian gave his shoulder another shake. "Come on, just keep your eyes open a little longer. We can make it. We… We can…"

Though John's lids fluttered, they ultimately remained closed. He felt his head sink down to the side, coming to rest on his brother's shoulder.

Maybe dying wouldn't be so bad after all.

As long as I don't have to do it alone…

Feeling Dorian shift against him, he realized with a warm flush of peace that he had never been alone, no matter how many times he tried to convince himself of the contrary.

Dorian was saying something else now. Shouting it, more like, but John couldn't make it out. All he knew was that it was loud.

And he was trying to sleep.

Just give me a minute...

I'll be right there, Dorian, just...

... Give me a minute.