He woke up with a start.

Deprived of the graceful slowness that usually allowed him to gather his bearings after a long night or one too many drinks with a certain partner in Spanish Harlem; this one felt different. Much different.

The noises didn't fit his apartment, and they sure as hell didn't fit the bullpen.

The smell though.

The smell was ringing a bell that was slow to get moving.

Blood.

Lots of it.

The thick coppery smell enveloping everything in apartment number 11.

A sudden rush of adrenalin flooded his body, making him twitch, the move enough to set into motion a plethora of unwelcome aches and pains from prolonged time spent on a hard ground.

His head was the worst, the loud throbbing in the back of his skull indicative of where Danny had knocked him out. God, how hadn't he seen him coming?

Then there were his knees, hips, elbows…joints growing stiff and slow to comply despite his vehement protests.

Outside, he could hear traffic flowing by at a steady rate as though nothing had happened. But something did. And it had to do with Danny.

The sheer mentioning sent shivers down his spine and Kevin worked hard to get his knees underneath him again, hoping to get up and continue to sweep the apartment, reel in Beckett and put an end to this cat and mouse chase.

And yet, it was a strange weight that kept him in place.

Before he ever had a chance to investigate the source of it, he saw his partner's wristwatch next to his face; the one that was attached to his outstretched arm, bloodied fingers slightly curled.

It was the same one that told him that fifteen minutes had passed since they first entered the apartment.

"Javi?", Kevin croaked, hating how pathetic he sounded.

With overbearing effort, he managed to push himself off the ground some more, his body protesting every move.

It was then when he realized that the weight he'd felt had been his partner's right hand resting on the back of his neck, as if to act like a protective barrier to keep him safe from further attacks.

"Javier?", he tried again, only receiving an eerie stillness as a reply.

Despite the pain and dizziness, he got back on his hands and knees, cringing when his partner's hand limply slid off him, before ending up on the blood-stained floor.

Blood.

There was so much more of it there now that hadn't been there before.

And all of it as still wet.

"No."

His active mind had envisioned what happened during his bout of unconsciousness long before his eyes managed to process the scene.

The knife. Danny had used a 4-5" knife to stab all his victims. And now he'd been after them.

Thinking that the blow to the head had killed him, he must have gone after Javi next, resulting in a battle to the death.

"Damnit."

Swallowing the nausea building up in his stomach, Kevin got on his feet, the sheer motion making the world spin at an uncomfortable speed. When he regained his balance, he looked around, ensuring that Danny was no longer nearby, only to be greeted with the same silence they found when first walking in.

Several feet away was his Glock, carelessly left behind on the wooden floor where it must have ended up when he was knocked out.

Kevin quickly grabbed it and secured the gun in his belt holster before crouching down next to his partner, seeing the shiny spot on his right shoulder where the blood was seeping from his vest, some of it splattered across the white police lettering.

Subconsciously, his shaking left hand reached for his cell, his thumb sliding across the display to bring up recent contacts. A quick glance told him he'd sought out the right number when he hit the button to dial Beckett, his other hand busy reaching for the side of his partner's neck, cringing at the cool skin below his fingertips.

There was no answer on her line, so he pushed a few more buttons to get a hold of Castle, hoping the writer would be in a position to aid and pass on what little information he could relay.

"He dead?"

The voice made him jump back to his feet and crash hard against the frame of the outside window, causing a plethora of clattering where the curtain rods were shaking in their holders.

Even though his hand instinctively reached for his gun, Kevin stopped in his tracks, then released a shuddered breath when he saw the midget from down the hall peek his head around the corner.

"No.", he gasped, momentarily unable to remember the other man's name as he hung up the phone, "But he needs help and I need to get a hold of the rest of my team. They're in danger."

"That's a lot of blood to lose. Looks like there was a struggle. Here, I'll take care of him and call in the cops and paramedics. You go help your friends."

At the unexpected words, Kevin furrowed his brows and watched him come closer, an impatient frown on his face.

"But you…"

"But you…what? I can't use a cell phone? Or do the same stuff taller people can do? Listen here, NYPD Blue, I'm a vet. I know what I am doing. Just because I am short doesn't mean I am handicapped."

"You're a vet?", Kevin repeated incredulously.

"A veterinarian to be exact. At any rate, no matter the vessel, I know how to keep blood where it belongs. At least this one doesn't look like he'll bite or scratch. Now get going and help your friends.", the other man urged and kneeled beside Javi, "If that guy you're after is as bad as you said, I don't want him living next door anyway."