Chapter Text
Seokjin didn't notice at first. Assumed—not without reason—that Jungkook just wasn't paying attention, simply spacing out the way he did sometimes. And Seokjin loved the kid, he really did, he wouldn't be here if he didn't—but he was here, with Jungkook and Jimin in a cramped backstreet at quarter to ten p.m., when he hadn't had a chance to grab so much as a stick of so-tteok so-tteok for dinner.
So maybe the usual teasing whine came out sharper than usual when Seokjin said, "Jungkook-ah, if you'd just listen, that building over there is where—"
"—See it," Jungkook said, cutting him off. Except when Seokjin looked, he wasn't even facing the direction Seokjin was pointing, instead was looking back over his shoulder. Talking to Jimin, or else he was distracted by the neon lights of the bar behind them, or maybe he was just bopping along to some earworm advertising jingle playing in his head. It wasn't like Jungkook was dumb—anything but, as more than a few loan sharks and dealers had discovered. And plenty more were going to be learning that lesson, and Seokjin couldn't wait to see it.
But right now he would just appreciate the Jeon's sole scion affording him a little attention, while he explained this family investment. The particulars were sticky, and in Seokjin's professional opinion Jungkook would be better off divesting himself of the property. And Seokjin could just sign the paperwork himself, but Namjoon might raise an eyebrow if Jungkook's name weren't on it.
...Or else maybe he'd just smile, dimples and all, and take the advantage, some angle that Seokjin couldn't see yet, couldn't guess at. Wasn't sure he wanted to. He thought he'd known Namjoon, thought they'd been friends; but he wasn't sure these days how much of that ingenious boy was left in the canny man running the Bangtan gang now.
At any rate, better if Jungkook handled this himself; he still was the one surviving member of the infamous Jeon family, even if Kim Namjoon had all the authority now. Except Jungkook was—staring off in a different direction now, but still not where Seokjin was pointing. Time to call in the big guns. "Jimin-ah!" Seokjin called out, swinging around to address their companion, who had fallen two steps behind them, pacing Jungkook like a proper bodyguard. "Will you tell our Jungkookie that the better he listens to me, the faster we can get to that noodle place he's drooling over?"
Jimin smiled at him, brightly as ever. Though there was something off about it, and not just because instead of backing Seokjin up, he said, "Actually, hyung, I was thinking we could have dinner downtown, maybe that Chinese place you keep trying to get us to? How about you call us a cab?"
"A cab?" Seokjin frowned at him in confusion. "Our car's parked just a couple blocks away." And it wasn't like a taxi would have any more luck maneuvering through these twisty side streets. "We can go to dinner as soon as Jungkook—"
"You can come back tomorrow," Jimin said. Still smiling that odd, off smile—his eyes, Seokjin realized; the grin was curving his lips, but not his eyes. Jimin had turned his head toward Seokjin, but his unsmiling eyes were looking past him. Scanning the dark shadows in the alley ahead—the streetlight there must have burned out.
The same shadows Jungkook was looking at now—idly, his expression unchanged from that vague, wide-eyed distraction. Only his posture had shifted, rocked forward onto the balls of his feet, and he'd taken his hands out of his pockets.
Jimin bumped Seokjin's shoulder as he pushed forward past him. For all there was plenty of room in the alley—there wasn't anyone else around, Seokjin suddenly realized. Even if it wasn't that late, and when they'd first entered the block they'd been ducking and weaving between people. But now this side street was empty, up and down, not even a single early drunk stumbling out of the bar behind them.
Except up ahead, in the shadows, where a figure was stepping out—a couple of figures. Big, both as broad-shouldered as Seokjin, and taller than any of them.
Not that size was everything.
"Seokjin-hyung," Jimin said. His head was turned just enough that Seokjin could see the smile still playing across his lips. His eyes caught the light—no contacts today, and the overhead streetlight glittered in the black of his irises. Gleamed off the metal slipped over the knuckles of his fist. "You and Jungkook can go back to the car. Now."
"What? No!" Jungkook protested. He cracked his knuckles, made his own fists. "Come on, Jimin-ssi, I deserve a little fun—we can take 'em—"
"No," Jimin said. That teasing -ssi didn't provoke even a twitch of his lips, pulled tight, baring his teeth as he stepped in front of Jungkook and Seokjin. "You can't."
Behind the two figures were others, Seokjin saw, as his eyes adjusted to the dark. All big. All moving toward them. "Jungkook-ah," he said, grabbing Jungkook's shoulder, "maybe we should—"
"No," Jungkook said, and Seokjin would've called him a brat—except when he looked at Jungkook's face, there wasn't any trace of that idle bored kid. Jungkook's round eyes were narrowed, staring past Jimin to the men advancing on them. His face was pale in the streetlight, his jaw set. "We're not just leaving you, Jimin-hyung."
The corner of Jimin's mouth did quirk at that. "Now I get a hyung," he muttered—and then the approaching men started to hustle, and Jimin spun back toward them.
Seokjin had seen Jimin brawl before, and not just sparring Jungkook. Still, there was something astonishing about it every time, the way he flowed into a fight, his slender, solid form melting into pure liquid grace. Now it was like watching a leopard take on a pair of charging rhinos. Jimin ducked low to sweep his leg around, taking the nearer man's legs out from under him, while simultaneously grabbing his arm to direct his fall, sending him careening into the second man.
Rhino #2's head hit the brick wall next to them hard enough to make a crack like a summer watermelon being split open. He collapsed to the pavement, and Jimin grinned, wide and wild, and continued his spin to deliver a kick to the first bruiser's jaw that snapped his head back and sent him flipping over his comrade.
Jungkook gave a whoop like he was watching a wrestling match. But Jimin had lost the smile when he twisted back. Without glancing at Jungkook, he met Seokjin's eyes, snarled, "Get him out of here, hyung—"
—Then he threw himself forward, ducking under the swing of a metal baseball bat whistling through the spot where his skull had just been.
"Jimin-ssi!"
Jimin fluidly whipped around, grabbing the man by the meaty wrist and wrenching backwards until there was a dull crack, and the bat dropped from his hands.
"Jungkook," Seokjin said, grabbing Jungkook's arm, "we have to—"
With a howl of anger and pain, the man threw a punch, but it was about as effective as boxing an ocean wave; Jimin ebbed out of the way and then surged back with a counterpunch, planting his brass knuckles in the guy's nose to a spurt of blood. But there were two more guys behind him, and one of them had a knife, the strip of bright metal reflecting the streetlight.
Swearing, Jungkook tore free of Seokjin and threw himself forward to tackle the guy with the switchblade. They both crashed to the ground, Jungkook on top, wrestling for the knife—but someone else was stepping out of the shadows, the biggest bruiser yet, a head taller than Seokjin and shoulders almost twice as wide in either direction. The man lifted his massive fists, brought them down like a sledgehammer, and Jungkook crumpled.
"Jungkook!" Seokjin cried without thinking, then realized his mistake as the giant swung around toward him with the ponderous gravity of a steam shovel.
Seokjin stumbled back, and his shoulders rammed into the brick wall behind him. A panicked voice was gibbering in the back of his head—flight flight flight—but the wall—and behind the man's bulk, Jungkook was on his hands and knees on the pavement, his head hanging down, and Seokjin didn't think, just shouted and threw a wild punch at the general vicinity of the giant's chin.
The guy caught his fist in one hand, not even a block, just stopping it cold. Seokjin gaped up at him, knowing that he should be doing something—tell Jungkook to run, spit in the guy's eye, some heroic nonsense; but he couldn't move. The giant raised a fist over him about the size of a four-door sedan, gold rings glittering on the sausage-thick fingers—
Then he grunted, stumbled, and fell over like a tree toppling.
Seokjin stared down at the prone giant in baffled paralysis, gasping for breath and his heart jackhammering in his ears. Then someone called, "Jungkook-ah!" and Seokjin looked up to see Jimin fling aside the metal baseball bat he'd just wielded and vault over the fallen giant, to grab Jungkook by the jacket and haul him up.
Jimin shoved Jungkook at Seokjin, who caught him automatically. Jungkook was staggering, dazed, but with Seokjin holding his arm, he managed to keep on his feet. "Go back to the car," Jimin panted.
Seokjin glanced over his shoulder at the men scattered like a bowling pin strike in the alley. Then at Jimin, hair mussed and coat ripped, the corner of his mouth bloody. "We can—"
Jimin shook his head. "Jungkook's their target—and they want to grab him, or else that guy with the knife would've tried to take him out. Get him out of here, take him to Yoongi."
"But you—"
"I'll be fine," Jimin said. When he grinned his teeth were bloody, too. "I texted Taehyungie before this started. You just take care of Jungkook—"
Behind him, three of the men were getting up, not so unconscious after all, and Jimin whirled back to face them, even as he hollered over his shoulder, "Go!"
Seokjin pulled Jungkook's arm over his shoulders and yanked him into a stumbling jog. They both were gasping for breath, and with every fall of his feet on the pavement Seokjin expected someone to grab him. Behind them were shouts and grunts and the meaty thuds of fists to flesh, of bodies hitting the ground—any one of them could be Jimin, but Seokjin couldn't turn back, not when Jungkook was still slumping heavily against him. He was only barely moving under his own power, but he managed to raise his head toward Seokjin, mumbled, "Hyung?"
"Right here," Seokjin panted. They were past the streetlight, rounding the corner bar. He only realized when he saw their reflection in the window panes that the neon sign had been switched off. No wonder the street was so dark now.
It was hours yet until last call, but the door was closed tight. Either they'd seen the trouble brewing...or they'd already known it was coming. Like they'd known Jungkook would be here, well enough to lay an ambush. With the manpower to deal with Park Jimin, even—but how had they known, when the matter of this property hadn't even come up until this afternoon...
He could work it out later; ahead was the brightly welcoming shine of streetlights and headlights. Almost to the end of the alley, and Seokjin tightened his grip on Jungkook, tried to pick up the pace—
A bang cut through the night—resonating sharply over the sounds of traffic, though distant enough that anybody driving past probably took it for a firecracker. A few years ago Seokjin would've mistaken it for one himself, just kids getting ready for New Year's early.
He couldn't make that mistake now. And Jungkook froze, every muscle locked tight and his face going paper-white in the shadows.
Then he jerked his arm free from Seokjin's arm, turned back down the alley. Staggering unsteadily, which gave Seokjin the chance to grab him again. "Where are you going, you can't—"
"Jimin," Jungkook gasped, tugging against Seokjin's hold. "If they've got guns—"
"—Then we need backup!" Seokjin cried. "What are you going to do otherwise, except get shot? And then Jimin will kill me, and then Namjoon'll resurrect me so he can kill me himself, and then Taehyung would—he'd—" But that didn't even bear thinking about.
No more than thinking about who had fired the gun now. Or that there had only been one shot.
At least Seokjin's frantic babbling had been distracting enough that he'd managed to drag Jungkook to the end of the alley. The sidewalk beyond was mostly deserted, the business district closed up for the night. But all the streetlights were still lit here, and right down the block was the car. Seokjin exhaled, about to step into the nearest circle of light—
"Wait!" Jungkook grabbed Seokjin's long coat by the collar and yanked him back into the alley, knocking his shoulders into the building's concrete wall.
"Jungkook!" Seokjin shoved at him, but Jungkook didn't budge, his arm braced across Seokjin's chest like the bar of a roller coaster cart. "We have to—"
"There's someone waiting by the car," Jungkook said, leaning past Seokjin to peer around the building.
Seokjin swallowed. "Maybe...backup?" If Taehyung had gotten here already...
Jungkook shook his head. When Seokjin pushed at him again, he lowered his arm, to let Seokjin peek around the corner himself. Most of this street had been empty when they got here, but now there was another vehicle parked behind theirs—not Taehyung's motorcycle but a bulky SUV, out of the streetlight and mostly in shadow.
Seokjin squinted. He couldn't be sure, but in the headlights of a passing car he thought he saw dark silhouettes seated behind the windshield.
"We gotta go." Jungkook glanced down the alley, then back, eyes narrowed to study Seokjin. "If those guys have already spotted us—we can't be cornered here."
"Hey," Seokjin started to protest, "how come that 'we' sounds like you meant 'you'—" except he didn't get past the first two words before Jungkook put an arm around his waist, stepping close.
Not because he was dizzy, Seokjin realized, when Jungkook elbowed his side, hissing, "Start walking!"
"Jungkook-ah—?"
"You've got broader shoulders," Jungkook said, grudgingly, as he slouched to lean his head against Seokjin.
Nestling close, like a date might, tipsy after an evening at a bar—and Jungkook had been growing out his hair, and the long black coat he was wearing would make his figure hard to see clearly in the dark. "This is a terrible idea," Seokjin muttered, but he put his arm around Jungkook's shoulders, and they strolled out of the alley together.
They started down the sidewalk, heading away from their car; not walking too fast, like they knew where they were going but weren't that eager to get there.
Couldn't dare look back, but there were no footsteps immediately behind them, at least. After a few paces Jungkook reached in his pocket, pulled out his cellphone.
Seokjin grabbed his wrist. "Wait—who are you calling?"
"Namjoon-hyung," Jungkook muttered back, the obviously implied in his annoyed undertone. Then, when Seokjin didn't let go of his wrist, "What?"
Seokjin's pulse was thumping in his ears like a rabbit's. Their pace was picking up, and Seokjin couldn't tell if Jungkook was pushing them along, or if he was the one holding Seokjin back from a panicked sprint. "Who'd you tell about where we were going tonight?"
"Huh?" Jungkook said. "No one, you didn't tell me where we were going—"
"Yeah, and I didn't talk to anyone either," Seokjin said. "And I only decided to bring you here this afternoon—after Namjoon reminded me about that property. So..."
Jungkook was silent for a couple more steps, thinking. He was way too smart not to see it. Even if he didn't want to. His voice was low when he finally spoke. "Hyung...you seriously think Namjoon-hyung set us up?"
Seokjin swallowed, not wanting to say it. But then how much worse must this be for Jungkook, after everything Namjoon had done for him, meant to him... "If he decided to make his move—"
Another beat—then Jungkook snorted. "If Kim Namjoon was making a move, we'd both be dead already. You think he'd have let Jimin-ssi come with us, if he'd planned this? We wouldn't have had a chance."
That was...not untrue. Seokjin slowly let go of Jungkook's wrist.
"Besides," Jungkook added, and his teeth glimmered in the faint light of his phone's screen as he swiped it on again, "if Namjoon-hyung did decide to take me out, I'm sure he'd have a good reason for it."
He raised the phone to his ear, waited hardly a second before a muffled voice answered. Jungkook whispered back, "Yeah, we're—uh-huh, just around the block—me and Jin-hyung—yeah. Okay, we gotta—yeah." He ended the call, stuffed the phone back in his pocket. "They're already on the way."
Seokjin snuck a look behind them. He'd hoped he'd imagined the sound of an engine, but..."That's not them, is it?"
Jungkook looked back at the vehicle turning onto the street behind them. It was hard to see past the headlights, but the general shape looked like the dark SUV that had been parked behind their own car. "Okay, hyung," Jungkook said, "time to run," and he grabbed Seokjin's hand and pulled him into a dash down the sidewalk, as behind them the SUV's engine revved up.
Jungkook had always gotten top marks at track and field events; Seokjin could only keep up with him because the kid had such a firm grip on his hand that he was more likely to pull Seokjin's arm out of its socket than let go. Though when Seokjin yanked at his hand, Jungkook turned back enough to see where he was pointing, and swerved sharply to drag them both into the dark alleyway to their left.
That maybe wasn't the best decision, Seokjin realized, as a moment later even the dim glow of the streetlight was cut off by the SUV pulling in front of the alley—too narrow for it to drive down, but Seokjin winced at the sound of car doors opening and slamming shut behind them. Jungkook didn't look back but kept pulling them further into the alley. Seokjin kept up, barely, his free hand pressed to the stitch in his side.
He stumbled when Jungkook stopped in his tracks, then froze himself as he heard it—footsteps on the pavement ahead of them, as well as behind. With a sinking feeling Seokjin mentally mapped their own steps, and realized they'd ended up heading back in the same direction they'd fled from—herded like sheep, and now they were cornered after all, trapped between their attackers.
Jungkook shoved Seokjin roughly back into the space behind a low dumpster. "Keep ducked down, hyung, so they don't see you."
"Hey!" Seokjin protested, fumbling to grab his arm in the dark as Jungkook tried to turn away, "You're not supposed to be the one protecting me—"
"I'm the one they're after," Jungkook said.
"Yeah, and if they catch you—"
"Stay here!" Jungkook snapped, and the sudden steel in his voice was like Namjoon's—or like Jungkook's own late father's, and Seokjin let go more out of surprise than obedience. Jungkook didn't hesitate—he backed away from Seokjin, into the sliver of moonlight glimmering between the alley's close walls, so his face was a blur, a pale candle in the shadows. The men coming from the street shouted out, footsteps pounding as they rushed for their revealed target. Jungkook didn't run, just turned toward them, fists raised.
The first one he dodged and then roundhouse-kicked in the gut, and the second man he flipped over his shoulder in a move Jimin would've been proud of—but the last man was trained himself. Seokjin couldn't see clearly through the shadows, but the guy blocked Jungkook's punch to throw his own with a boxer's precision, snapping Jungkook's head back—he'd probably had a concussion anyway, and now his bell was rung good enough that he staggered backwards, shaking his head. The first man straightened up and lunged to grab Jungkook by the arms—and screw this anyway.
Namjoon had warned Seokjin years ago that he should carry something, if not a gun then at least a switchblade. Seokjin had just laughed at him—what the hell was he going to do with a knife, outside of the kitchen? It wasn't like he was hired for that side of their business; he'd gotten his degree in finance law, for pity's sake. And it wasn't like he needed to learn, when he was mostly with Jungkook anyway, and Jungkook was always with Jimin—
Except not now. Now, with a yell that hopefully sounded more furious than terrified, Seokjin threw himself at the knot of men. They didn't see him coming; he managed to knee one of them pretty good, and jammed his elbow in the solar plexus of another, and the surge of triumph and adrenaline made him giddy as he grabbed for the guy holding Jungkook, hollered, "Let him go—!"
—There was a thunderous bang, so loud and sharp it was like a punch to the chest. Breathless, Seokjin staggered back, fell on his rear.
Jungkook's head snapped up, his eyes round as globes. "Jin-hyung—" he said—at least his mouth shaped the syllables; Seokjin couldn't really hear him over the ringing in his ears. His arm was numb—no, it was burning, on fire like it had been doused with gasoline and lit up, only he didn't see any match or smell any petrol. Though when he grabbed his biceps he could feel dampness spreading through and staining his coat's sleeve.
Seokjin looked up, and saw moonlight glittering off the silver muzzle of the gun that had just shot him, now aimed at his head.
His heartbeat was thudding in his ears, loud enough that he could hear it even over the ringing, though it seemed to be too slow—minutes or hours or more stretched between each beat. Behind the man with the pistol, Jungkook was struggling against the two men gripping his arms, dragging him back. He seemed to be moving in slow-motion, too; his mouth was open but Seokjin still couldn't hear his voice.
But Jungkook was looking at Seokjin, huge eyes fixed on him as he thrashed and kicked—maybe he actually would listen for once, and Seokjin made himself smile, made his numb lips move. He couldn't hear his own voice either, but he hoped Jungkook could—"It's okay, Jungkook-ah, I know you'll do your best—"
The gun was shoved forward, filling his field of vision, so that even in the shadows Seokjin could see the finger tightening on the trigger. He tried to brace himself—
Then the finger loosened—the pistol fell away, trigger unpulled, as the man holding it gave a gurgle, and collapsed to the pavement.
Seokjin stared. His heart was still pounding, but too fast now, and the world was stuttering around him like the frames of an unspooling film reel, blank spaces between still images. The gun laying on the pavement; the body supine beside it. Moonlight glittered off the slim knife embedded almost to its hilt in the fallen man's eye socket.
Seokjin raised his head, and then flinched as something hot and wet spattered across his face. He blinked back the stickiness and registered first the next man—now a corpse, sliding to the pavement beside the other body, opened throat dripping black in the pale light.
It took another frame or two for him to parse the darkness behind the dead man as more than shadows—as a black coat, and raven-black hair, and void-black eyes, that flicked down to meet his, and Seokjin's hammering heart seized, missed a beat in sheer atavistic terror.
Then it started again, and sound and movement flooded back in an overwhelming surge. Seokjin sagged back on the pavement, and suddenly Jungkook was kneeling in front of him, holding him by the shoulders and shaking him, shouting in his face, "Hyung? Seokjin-hyung?"
The shaking made the pain in his arm that much worse. "Ow," Seokjin said, clutching at it.
"Taehyung!" Jungkook yelled, "let him go, come back, I need help—Jin-hyung—"
There was the tapping of hard soles on the pavement, and then the black coat reappeared in Seokjin's vision—crouched down next to him, on the other side from Jungkook, and Seokjin blinked at the face now before him. "Oh," he said. "Taehyung—there you are."
Taehyung nodded, staring back at Seokjin. He looked weird, and not only the bottomless darkness in his eyes or the blood speckling his cheeks. It was weird for Taehyung to be looking Seokjin in the eyes but not smiling. Not making any expression at all.
Stabbing pain flared through Seokjin's arm. "Ow—ow!!" he choked out through gritted teeth.
"Sorry!" Jungkook said, but he didn't let go of where he had his hand pressed over Seokjin's arm.
Behind him there were the two bodies lying on the pavement—the third man must have run for it. The moonlight reflected off their glassy eyes, on the smears of dark blood cooling in the chill night air.
Seokjin had seen Jimin fight plenty of times, but Taehyung never. For all he was the most feared hitman in the city—but that had always been an abstract fact to Seokjin. Useful in the general sense, and he'd never tried to consider the specific.
The gun lay on the ground next to the nearer corpse's outstretched hand. It looked a lot smaller there than it had when aimed at his head. Seokjin stared at it. Swallowed to force back the surge of acid rising up his throat, and raised his eyes back to Taehyung's. "Thanks," he said.
It came out raspy and shaky, but Taehyung nodded again, then turned his head to scan the dark alley. "Where's Jimin?"
"Jimin-ssi," Jungkook said shakily, "he—"
He stopped suddenly, turning his head to look toward the mouth of the alley, as Taehyung smoothly stood to step in front of Jungkook and Seokjin. His black coat cut off Seokjin's line of sight, but not before he'd seen movement, more figures approaching—
"—Taehyung! What's going on?" Namjoon's low voice cut across the alley, and Taehyung stepped aside again, to reveal Namjoon and Hoseok hurrying toward them.
They were both armed, Hoseok with his knife and Namjoon a pistol, glittering in the faint light. Not turned on them yet, but maybe they were waiting until they got close enough—but Seokjin found himself exhaling anyways, slumping back. One way or another, this was over.
"Jin-hyung?" Hoseok said, sprinting the last few steps to drop to a crouch beside Jungkook and Seokjin. The blade disappeared from his hand so he could clasp Seokjin's shoulder, his own face drawn and pale as he stared worriedly into Seokjin's. "This blood—"
"It's not his," Taehyung said from the shadows behind him.
Hoseok's shoulders dropped in a relieved sigh. Then he lightly bumped his shoulder to Jungkook's, impelling him to sidle over enough for Hoseok to check out Seokjin's arm.
"What happened?" Namjoon demanded, looking between them to the bodies on the pavement.
"Jin-hyung," Jungkook said, "he—he got shot—and Jimin—and I—" and his voice wavered in an alarmingly young way, like in the last few minutes he'd regressed back to the shy kid Seokjin had met all those years ago.
"Hey," Seokjin said, "I'm okay," and he made an effort to sit up straighter, only to bite back a gasp as Hoseok applied pressure with a firmer hand. His arm up to his shoulder felt like it was on fire. Though that was probably better than feeling nothing. Seokjin hoped.
"It's not bleeding too badly," Hoseok said. His voice was totally calm, the way he got when he was behind the wheel, nimbly navigating a getaway. "Though Yoongi-hyung should look at it."
Namjoon crouched down too, before Jungkook, putting his hands on his shoulders and jostling him to look up and meet his eyes. "Jungkook-ah," he said, "who shot him? Who was after you?"
Jungkook shook his head, blurted, "I don't know, but there were a lot of them. Jimin took them on—I was going to help him, but he—and Seokjin-hyung—and then more of them were waiting for us at the car—"
"Jimin was fighting them?" Namjoon turned his head to look past Jungkook, down the alley.
"He's not there," Taehyung said, standing over them with his hands in his coat pockets. "He sent me a GPS with his text, but there wasn't anyone there now. Well, one body."
"Anyone we know?" Namjoon asked.
"Tough for hire," Taehyung said. "I don't remember his name. These ones, too," and he kicked the toe of his shoe against the side of the closest corpse.
"We should get out of here," Hoseok said. "Even if the local cops were paid off, they'll have to send someone eventually, and we can't find Jimin if we're arrested. Jin-hyung, can you stand?"
"Sure," Seokjin said recklessly, then regretted it as Hoseok took his good arm and hauled him up with a strength belied by his wiry form. The motion was dizzying enough to nauseate, and his legs were like rubber; Seokjin wouldn't have stayed upright if Hoseok hadn't put an arm around his waist.
Jungkook moved to help him, only to sway himself as he stood. "Jungkook-ah?" Namjoon asked, catching his arm to steady him.
"'fine," Jungkook mumbled, his head hanging down.
"Yeah, he got clobbered a few times there—" Seokjin started to say.
"—I did not—!"
"—He's probably got a concussion."
Namjoon nodded and stayed beside Jungkook, a supportive hand under his elbow, as they started for the end of the alley. Though he didn't ask if Jungkook was okay—he wasn't even looking at Jungkook, and when they stepped through that beam of faint moonlight, Namjoon's face was set, jaw thrust forward with some internal determination.
Frustrated, Seokjin thought...then found himself wondering why. Because they had been attacked and Jungkook had been injured, and the great and powerful Kim Namjoon, for all his vaunted brilliance, hadn't seen it coming? Or because he had, but it hadn't gone down the way he planned...
Jungkook had been so certain—but of course he had been; he relied on Namjoon, hell, he'd pretty much worshiped the ground Namjoon walked on for a decade. It was harder to believe in his conviction now, when Seokjin couldn't see Jungkook's face, his head hanging down as he leaned against Namjoon, completely trusting in his support. When Seokjin's own arm ached from where he'd just been shot—shot, because they'd been ambushed, when no one should have even known where they were tonight—
"You sure you didn't recognize any of them?" Namjoon pressed Jungkook, and Seokjin snorted.
"Why," he muttered, "need to make sure he didn't see anyone you know?"
"Seokjin-hyung?" Hoseok asked.
"Jin-hyung!" Jungkook said, more sharply.
"What?" Seokjin said. "Don't you want to know how they got here so quickly after we called? Just in the nick of time...right after Taehyungie saved us."
"Taehyung messaged us as soon as Jimin contacted him," Hoseok said. He sounded confused. "So we were already almost here when Jungkook called."
Seokjin was having to struggle to catch his breath, like the air in this dark alley was short on oxygen. His chuckle came out as a choked gasp. "So you came, just the two of you, with no more backup—typical genius move, huh, Namjoon?"
"We couldn't risk bringing anyone else," Namjoon said. "No one should've been here to begin with; no one should've known where Jungkook was tonight."
"No one," Seokjin said. "Right, no one knew, except me, and Jimin—and you."
"Yeah," Namjoon said, after a second. "Except me."
They had reached the end of the alley, where the SUV was waiting, parked so perfectly perpendicular to the surrounding brick walls that it could have been done by ruler. But they didn't get in. The streetlight's white gleam was harsher than the moonlight; it cast Namjoon's eyes into shadow, outlined the ruthless set of his jaw.
He'd faced far stronger adversaries than Seokjin, men older and eviler and way more powerful—and maybe this was what Namjoon had looked like when he did, when he'd taken them down. With Jimin and Taehyung at his side, but his brain was more dangerous than any of their skills, and everyone knew it. Kim Namjoon been the boss of the Bangtan gang for two years now and no one even questioned it, for all Jungkook should have been the heir apparent after his father's death.
Namjoon had a gun, and Hoseok had his knife. Though Taehyung was right behind them, and Taehyung was loyal to Jungkook, had just saved Seokjin's life...unless he'd been ordered to, then, and now...
Out of the alley, but Seokjin still couldn't catch his breath. The back of his skull ached as if he'd been laughing too hard. Maybe he was still laughing now, stuttering as he spoke, "So you're admitting it—you told me about the property; you knew I'd take Jungkook here. You knew I'd be too naive to see through it—"
"Jin-hyung," Jungkook said, and the kid sounded scared again. "Don't—"
Seokjin was pretty sure he should be terrified himself, the way Namjoon was looking at him. But the shaking of his voice wasn't fear now. "You set us up—you used me to set Jungkook up—"
"Yeah." Namjoon's jaw was clenched so tight the glaring light caught the tic in his cheek as the muscle worked. His hands were down at his sides, close to where he had the pistol holstered. "Jungkook, and you, and Jimin—I set you up."
"Namjoon-hyung?" Jungkook said, leaning against the car. His voice was trembling as bad as Seokjin's.
Seokjin's arm was throbbing, numb down to the fingers; but the fingers of his other hand were curled into a fist. He shoved back Hoseok, lurched forward and took a swing square at Namjoon's thrust-out chin. And Namjoon didn't try to duck, didn't step back or draw his gun, his whole body as rigid as his locked jaw—
Before Seokjin's fist connected, it was pushed aside, the blow smoothly blocked, and a hand locked around his wrist, wrenched down sharp enough to make Seokjin yelp.
At that sound, Taehyung let go of his wrist. He glowered at Seokjin, then whirled back toward Namjoon. His face was no longer expressionless, but the furious anger pulling his brows down was almost as unfamiliar.
"Jimin's gone," Taehyung said. "We don't have time to squabble."
"Squabble—!" Seokjin choked out.
Taehyung didn't glance back at him, still glaring at Namjoon. "So, Namjoon-hyung, please just get off the guilt trip and tell me who took Jimin and where they went."
Namjoon wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, as if Seokjin's fist had connected after all. His face was still that set, controlled mask, but his hand was trembling. "I don't know," he said. "I didn't—I don't know who's behind this."
He didn't sound certain, or defiant, or insistent; he sounded like he didn't believe it himself, what he was saying. When he was always supposed to be two steps ahead of everybody else, or five steps, or a dozen—who'd even buy that he'd be at a loss now.
Which maybe was what convinced Seokjin. Or else it was how Jungkook said, softly, "You can figure it out, Namjoon-hyung," and the stricken look that passed through Namjoon's eyes, Seokjin recognized. Had felt himself enough times tonight to identify it—the helplessness, and the despair of it, the guilt.
Though Namjoon was made of sterner stuff than Seokjin; he straightened up under the weight of Jungkook's hope, squared his shoulders. "Okay," he said. "Okay—what do we know." He counted off on his fingers, rapid-fire. "They've got guns, so they have connections, or else deep pockets. And there were, what, more than half a dozen of them? This was too well-planned to trust it all to hired help. There had to be someone affiliated with some group, someone identifiable. If any of them had tats, or a special piece—fashion, even, jewelry, or a hat—"
Jungkook shook his head, and Seokjin confirmed, "No...well, that guy with the rings, but..."
"Rings?"
Everyone was looking at him, even Jungkook, as if he hadn't been there. Seokjin blinked back at them. "The biggest guy, with the gold rings on his hands. You must've seen, Jungkook, he hit you with them!"
But Jungkook was gaping at him like the others; he shook his head. "I didn't see who hit me."
"...Right," Seokjin said. "Well, he was this giant bulldozer of a guy," and he gestured in the air at a level above his head. "He bulldozed right over you and would've gone over me too, if Jimin hadn't hit him with that baseball bat."
"Thick gold rings, on the middle fingers?" Hoseok asked, and Seokjin nodded.
"Lee Myungwoo," Namjoon said, frowning. "He still the Seung gang's muscle?"
"Last I heard," Hoseok said. "And after everything the Seungs have had him do, they wouldn't just let him freelance."
"...Shit," Jungkook muttered. When Namjoon looked at him, he admitted, "Last month Seung Daesik approached me."
"What?" Namjoon said. "You didn't say anything about that to me."
"Or me!" Seokjin said.
"It didn't have anything to do with you," Jungkook said. "I was out at a bar, he came up to me asking if we could do business, I told him to get lost."
"He came up to you?" Namjoon repeated.
Jungkook crossed his arms. "Well, we aren't interested, are we? The Seung gang deals with guns and hard drugs and they recruit teenagers; we're never giving them the time of day, are we, Namjoon-hyung?"
Namjoon opened his mouth, but the words burst out of Seokjin first. "That's not the point—if some low-level scum boss is stalking you, you have to tell someone!"
"He wasn't—Jin-hyung?" Jungkook said, leaning forward, his expression gone weird and drawn. At least what Seokjin could see of it, between the large black splotches flashing before his eyes. He tried to shakes his head to dispel them, but that made everything tilt alarmingly sideways.
"Whoa!" Hoseok caught him around the waist before he tipped over too far.
"Hyung?" Jungkook repeated anxiously. Seokjin tried to tell him he was okay, but the air had gotten too thin again; even gasping it in there wasn't enough oxygen to speak. He slumped against Hoseok, blinking to try to force wide the tunnel narrowing around his vision.
"We should get him to Yoongi," he heard Namjoon say—from close by, near enough to take Seokjin's good arm and pull it over his shoulder. It was only a few steps to the car, but Seokjin couldn't get the breath to say that, either, and Namjoon was strong enough to lean on. "Everyone get in—"
"—Wait, where's Taehyungie?" Hoseok asked.
"He's..." Jungkook's quick reply trailed off. "Taehyung-hyung? Taehyung!"
They'd made it to the SUV, and once Namjoon had sat him in the back, the dizziness receded enough for Seokjin to lift his head. There was, in the distance, the howl of a motorcycle engine revving. Jungkook started down into the alley toward it; when Hoseok grabbed his arm, Jungkook yanked away, posed to run.
But Namjoon said, "He's gone after Jimin—we'll find them, Jungkook. Now Seokjin-hyung needs a doctor before he loses any more blood." And Jungkook twitched, then turned back, head lowered and mouth down, to quickly climb into the SUV's backseat next to Seokjin and slam shut the door behind him.