Anton was back. The loud slam of the door and the obnoxious whistling was enough to wake Steven up, which meant he must've passed out again.

His numbed arms twitched behind him, and he managed to wiggle his sock covered toes, but he was so dehydrated and weak, he didn't really feel alive anymore.

At least when he was out, he didn't have to be constantly reminded of everything he should have done differently. Everything in his sad, pathetic life that had led him to this exact moment in time. Punishment for the betrayal of people he loved, his greed for drugs, and a blame he could only hang on himself.

He wasn't the role model type anymore. He wasn't really anything anymore.

"Time to go," Anton declared in his thick accent.

"No, mm'notd going," Steven moaned, shaking his congested head at the approaching figure.

"You don't have a choice."

With his strength gone and body inexplicably sore from hunching in the same position for so long, Steven started crying; he just couldn't help it. His cracked lips quivered uncontrollably, and his chest rocked and shook with silent weeps that sent more pain through his damaged ribs.

"Why cry, hm?" Anton mocked, stepping over the unmoved water bottle. He had a pocket knife in hand, and some sort of frayed fabric bag scrunched up in the other.

Steven couldn't respond. There were no more words. He was scrunching his eyes shut to stop the tears rolling down his cheeks, and sniffling his stuffy nose that remained to be hot and swollen.

One of the zip ties on his ankles snapped and his whimpering became more audible, but even through his uncontrolled cries, he heard silenced gunshots and a definitive slump of bodies against walls.

Steven cracked open a misty eye, trembling, but he shared the confusion of the man by his feet.

"The fuck?" Anton got up, backing up to the door cautiously, and reached into his jacket.

A tiny explosion was next, and the door was kicked off its hinges.

"Hands where I can see them."

This man was English, and brandishing a handgun tightly in his outstretched hands. His elbows were locked and an index finger was pierced over the trigger.

The gun may have been visible before his body, but Steven recognised that voice. He could barely think straight, but his memory didn't fail him.

"You?" Anton retorted, scrambling with his hands in defence. "I knew I shouldn't have hired you!"

"Get the fuck out," came the strong response. "Now, before I shoot you too."

With his hands up, Anton gave Steven one last shitty grin and obeyed, the gun tracking his every move. He wasn't stupid enough to get mixed up in a fight he would lose.

"Holy hell, Steven."

Steven was squinting through tears because he was still crying, but this time it was not out of fear. He was crying because he knew this guy who was frantically inspecting the state he was in with patting hands.

"W-will?"

"Yeah, it's me."

If Will wasn't there to catch him and hold his weight up as the right restraints were snapped, Steven would have fallen off the chair. It meant he cried out as his ribs were pushed, but the prickling of blood flowing past his elbows was more beautiful past the pain.

"You need to get out of here."

Steven, who had been re-seated carefully, slowly dropped his arms that slung haphazardly over Will's shoulders. The morphed frown of hurt grew deeper in disagreement.

"No! I c-can'td leave without her!"

"Steven-"

"I c-can'td!"

"Steven, look at me."

The bruised and battered man did. His whines were silenced, but his whimpering tears continued to dampen his cheeks and seep over the ridges of new scabs. He slunk down, feeling like a helpless boy with only Will to hold his shoulders straight.

He was wheezing, staring into the brown eyes ahead as best he could under the flop of his sweaty hair.

"You're going to be fine, but I need you to listen to me."

Steven knew there was something he couldn't quite pinpoint about Will that time at the bar, and that something just so happened to be that he would save his life. But, the memory was a reminder of his rough throat, so he tried pointing a finger to the floor to the water he so desperately needed.

"D-Drink..."

Will took his time looking him over, but he let go, located, and picked up the bottle behind him. He knelt and Steven's hands were raising and clawing for independence, but Will was the one who kept control.

"Easy, easy. Little sips."

Steven gulped down the liquid, not caring that it spilled over his mouth, and he would have finished the whole bottle if it wasn't taken away.

"I'm going to tie this up, okay?" Will tapped his injured leg gently. "The rest looks worse than it is. You're going to be fine."

Sharp rips were followed by fabric wrapping around his thigh, and his feet were being lifted and guided into his shoes where the laces were tied for him.

Steven was just a puppet, listening but not replying, and growing used to the bruised feeling in his chest every time he breathed in and out.

"When you go out of this room, you need to follow the corridor to the end, take a right down the stairs and then go through the door with the busted lock-"

Steven grabbed hold of the wrist that was securing a belt above his leg wound, caving back to his acute whines.

"No Will, no!"

"Steven, stop," Will said firmly, pausing his bandaging that had left him without sleeves on his top, and a belt through the loops of his trousers. "Your friends are here, and they're waiting for you. The police will be here-"

"No, not cops...can'td-"

"They're here to help you-"

"My baby!" he weeped, lip trembling again. Eyes glazing with a new round of fresh tears that hadn't really dried up. "I don't wantd to go without her! I can'td-not again."

"I'll look for her. I promise I'll look for her, but you gotta get out of here. Can you do that for me?"

Steven may have been pouting in distress, but he gave a weak nod.

"Good," Will breathed out, guiding an arm over his shoulders. "Let's get you standing. Put your weight on me."

Steven obeyed, leaning to his left where Will had nestled his way under his arm and secured a tight hold around his waist. He was careful with the pressure on his ribs, but there were always going to be noises of discomfort standing up on wobbly feet.

"Steady. Just let yourself adjust."

Ignoring him because he was stubborn, Steven took a step forward, and the moment he moved his left leg, he fell into a limp. His leg worked, but it was throbbing, and the makeshift bandage was starting to soak darker with blood, even with the belt trying to limit the flow.

They made it to the exit where two dead men were splayed on the floor, and it was a sight that made Steven's empty stomach turn. It was probably good he hadn't eaten anything because from the white burning he felt flush his face, he was swallowing down the rising reflux in his throat.

"Don't look," Will said, noticing his hesitation. "I don't like it either."

His arm was guided down from supportive shoulders, and Steven was standing on his own, left leg bent awkwardly.

He was already sweating with the effort he was putting in.

"I'll see you on the other side, yeah?" Will was checking over his gun, oddly calm. "You can do it, Steven."

"But'd what-"

"You'll know where to go."

The fact his mind was read with such confidence, only sent him hurtling further into confusion.

Will nodded his chin with a little smile. A smile, in a time like this.

"Go on," he encouraged.

Steven did. After another hesitation, and a thousand more questions he had to keep to himself, he did.

He turned and limped past the busted rooms and flipped furniture, not looking back because he knew Will was gone.

Steven was panting, grasping for the cold, steel handrail and falling into it, weak muscles barely keeping him upright. He slipped, trying to descend in the most comfortable way for his burning leg, but he was working off every burst of strength his body gave him, so he didn't have to stop.

"You can do it, Steven."

He was wrapping himself around the corner for the third flight of concrete steps, the last eight that would take him to the bottom, except jogging footsteps made him freeze with fear.

When he lifted his head, they had stopped.

"And where do you think you're off to."

With Anton leaping up the steps, Steven, strangely, had a sudden influx of strength. Right hand curled into a fist, a distraction of reaching into a pocket, and his punch connected with the bone of a nose.

"ARGHH!" Anton screamed, stumbling back into the wall. He almost lost his footing, but the grand finale of watching him fall down the stairs didn't quite make the package deal. "You broke my fucking nose!"

Steven's knuckles stung when they clung back to the handrail to save his teetering balance, but it was worth the blood pooling over fingers that clamped either side of a gushing nose. To see the physical damage he had done in his ridiculously injured state, and hear the satisfying crunch out of it.

"Whoopsie."

"You're going to pay for that you fu-"

Anton's retaliation and exposed bloody nose was put on hold, because of yells of 'police' echoing through the complex.

Steven felt like he had become a third wheel, since he was unable to understand the language, and to see Anton leave and tag along with the messenger boy without that promised goodbye punch, was cowardness in its finest hour.

Alone, heart racing, Steven continued on his way.

"You'll know where to go."

Will's voice was back in his head, and he wondered if he knew this would happen. A final hated parting that he was expected to win. He did, by the skin of his teeth, and Will had a lot to answer for putting him through unnecessary stress.

Steven took the next two steps slowly, a tense hop onto his good leg and streaming the air out his mouth. One more would leave him six to go with his beautiful escape close in sight, until his dreaded nightmare shocked him still.

All those cries of a baby- his baby girl that had kept him awake for countless, sleepless nights, was not just a nightmare behind fluttering eyelids. They were so loud, that they sent him into a spiral of desperation, because the one thing he wanted most in this world- the one thing he had chased for fifteen months- was something he could hear in the same vicinity as him.

"LIV!"

With the newfound rush of knowing he was so close, Steven completely forgot about his injured state. The fast stumble that followed was too much for his lack of balance to correct, and he lost his footing on the final steps.

He fell flat on his chest, smacking his chin and he let out a twisted groan with the shock of pain that erupted pretty much everywhere.

But his heart was racing, keeping him alive, and he would not surrender.

He lifted his head, unblurring the surroundings.

There were three ways. Left was a fire escape. Straight ahead was where Anton and his buddy had run, and right was the call of his aching heart.

Steven dragged himself along, nails clawing to the ground, flexing and breaking under his weight. Bare flesh on his arms scraped every bump, and the makeshift bandage caught on the uneven surface.

He didn't want to know what it looked like now.

He crawled closer to the jutted section of wall and gripped the with bloodied hands to haul himself onto his feet. His face was pressed to the plaster, his t-shirt torn open showing the purpling bruises blotching his skin, but he saw the door with the busted lock that had been concealed by the protruding wall, and he pushed on.

The shrilling cries were at it again. Tearing him apart. Not allowing him to give up.

Steven lunged for the handle, hand slamming it down, and he fell into an enormous warehouse.

"LIV!...LIV! WHERE...ARE YOU?!"

As soon as he let go, he collapsed. The exhaustion hit him like a truck. His broken voice echoed for miles. The floor was cold and shiny, and soothed his burning cheek.

"STEVEN!!"

His head was spinning, which meant he couldn't tell which way was up and if the footsteps were coming or going. All he knew was that someone was screaming his name, and the hope to find his little girl, to hold her in his arms, was slipping away.

"STEVEN! WHERE ARE YOU!?"

Steven's eyes were drooping closed. He tried to drag himself forward, but there was no longer a response from his limbs. He just lay there on his bruised stomach, with one hand splayed next to his head, pawing with twitching fingers.

"H-Help," he croaked, but it was so frail, it would never be heard.

"STEVEN!!"

The yelling finally stopped and a clomping of boots slowed and squeaked. He felt the vibration underneath his cheek, but he didn't have the strength to look up and see who it was.

The next thing he knew he was being rolled onto his back and strong arms were wrapping around him and hauling him up so he was half sitting, half slouched.

Pain accumulating, Steven blinked in a daze. Adjusted to the brown eyes of his best friend that were filled with so much emotion, they were spilling into him, and giving him a small burst of energy to see the light of day.

He'd never seen Joe cry before, and never would he have thought those tears would be for him.

"Joe..."

"Hey," he panted. His chest was moving fast, hair a floppy mess. "I'm here."

"J-Joe," Steven repeated hoarsely.

But it really was Joe holding him gently, the heat of hands on his bruised, bare skin that tried to keep him upright, and as a response, he might have even tried to smile.

"I'm here. You're goin' to be alright."

Trembling in Joe's arms, Steven looked up at him through the gaps in his sticky curls of hair.

"M'so tired."

"I know, I know but you gotta stay awake for a bit longer," Joe told him, brushing away his hair like he knew it was annoying him. "W-We've got Liv- we've got her back a-and she knows you're her papa and Steven, she's grown up so fast. She's so beautiful-"

"It's okay...I'forgive-" Steven brought up a slackened wrist, and tapped Joe's rapidly rising chest to focus the wandering eyes that roamed over his face. "-you."

"No no no, don't you dare leave me!" Joe demanded, catching his hand when it fell back down.

Steven swallowed carefully, steadying his final wheezing breaths to deliver to this world.

"Tell...Leah I'm so...s-sorry."

"You can tell her yourself!" Joe answered quickly, with a watery smile. His lips were trembling when he pressed them together and more tears rolled down his cheeks. "She's here. She found me and then w-we all found you with Will. You remember Will, right?"

"Let'me...go...Joe," Steven whispered, shaking around his laboured breathing.

Joe shook his head and readjusted his arms. He didn't let go of their held hand, blood, dirt and sweat binding them together.

"Steven Victor Tallarico you stay awake you hear me? I'm not leaving you again. You'll have to do better than that if you want to leave without me."

Steven wheezed. "Look after Liv...for me. I t-trust you-"

Resonating footsteps approached.

"Joe! The police are here! And an ambulance th-"

"Then tell them to HURRY THE FUCK UP!"

In the meantime, Steven's head had rolled off Joe's lap and his eyes had slipped close. His chest was barely moving, and every weak breath was wheezier than the last.

He couldn't take the pain anymore

"Steven, no. Steven NO! Wake up y-you idiot," Joe insisted, shaking his shoulders lightly and squeezing his hand again. "You're goin' to raise Liv yourself and you have so much to look forward to. You're goin' to sing your heart out to the world, and we'll write songs just like you said we would a-and I promise I'll turn my amp down- Steven! NO! P-Please don't go-"

But Steven was gone. He had let the darkness consume him, and he was limp in Joe's arms. His grip slackened from their held hand, and he did not have the conscious strength to hear the weeping that followed.

"I've just got you back..."

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