Chapter 34: Who's Gonna Save My Soul

Who's gonna save my soul now?

Who's gonna save my soul now?

I wonder if I'll live to grow old now

Getting high 'cause I feel so low down

-"Who's Gonna Save My Soul" Gnarls Barkley

Eleanor patted her hair for the fifth time since she'd walked through the door, and, as she'd expected, strands of greying brown floated to the marble floor where she'd pressed her hand against the formal updo. Chemotherapy and radiation were unpleasant experiences to begin with, and that was without their less than desirable side effects - the hair loss was certainly going to be difficult to explain, and she'd thrown up twice before even arriving at Blair and Chuck's party. The smell of cocktail shrimp had nearly sent her running to the bathroom again, but she managed to control her nausea by holding a perfumed wrist against her nose and inhaling deeply.

There was no denying it - as she got better, she would also get worse. Her loss of hair, the constant trips to the toilet, the fatigue that spread throughout her body and made her feel as if she had weights tied to every limb... The physical damage was obvious to her already, and considering the intelligence and keen eyes of her family, the chances of her secret remaining a secret were quite slim.

"Eleanor? Are you alright?" Cyrus peered into her eyes, his face concerned.

She smiled widely, which was an effort in itself - her muscles seemed to squeeze her face so tautly that it could fall right off. "Fine, darling. I'm simply thinking about all of the excitement of the marriage and the baby."

Cyrus nodded and returned her smile, though a trace of skepticism remained in his voice. "As am I." He paused briefly. "But you'll tell me if you're not feeling well?"

"Of course," said Eleanor, hating herself for lying, but there was so much to explain now that Jack was involved - her family members wouldn't understand why she'd shared news of her diagnosis with him and not them, why she'd been forced to trust Jack completely as everything she had - her company, her body, hell, her mind - fell apart. What Jack had done - the solution he'd proudly presented her over coffee and croissants in an indistinct cafe in Greenwich - was something she'd never dreamed of. She was hardly a criminal; she was Eleanor Rose for God's sake, but she'd been sick and desperate, and its status as her singular option also rendered it her best option. She broke the law by default, or so she convinced herself at the time - the guilt had come later.

"Eleanor." She was broken out of her thoughts by Lily's greeting, and she stretched her cheeks again as she smiled and kissed her old friend's cheek.

"Lily. You look wonderful." And she did - Lily's light blonde hair was swept into a glamorous chignon, and she looked fresh and happy. Why wouldn't she? Her son had just gotten married, and she would soon have a grandchild.

"Thank you," Lily said. "As do you."

"Where is Rufus this evening?" Eleanor asked, raising a brow at Lily's apparent lack of companion. She'd assumed the scruffy man would have sewn himself to Lily's side at this point.

"Away," Lily said vaguely. "We're having some...issues."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

Lily sighed. "I know you're not Rufus's biggest fan, and I understand - he's always been uncomfortable in this social sphere, as insulting as that might sound, and he isn't receptive toward anyone in it. Plus, there's the whole issue with Bart..."

Eleanor raised a brow. She knew Lily and Bart had been spending more time together on account of their shared connection with Chuck, but Lily sounded particularly distraught. Had she and Bart become something more?

"It's nothing like that," Lily said quickly, her words coming out in a rush. "Well, it's difficult to explain... Since Bart and I never divorced before his fake death, technically we're still married."

Eleanor's throat emitted a sound between a cough and guffaw. "So you're a bigamist at the moment?" she asked, her amusement evident in her eyes and voice.

Lily cracked a smile as well, a light laugh escaping her. "I suppose, yes. Now I have to choose which marriage to keep, and it's been difficult for everyone involved."

"I can imagine," said Eleanor, suddenly filled with sympathy for her friend. "Do you have any idea what you're going to do?"

"I've been agonizing about it," Lily replied, fine lines appearing between her brows. "But yes, I think I know what I have to do."

"What you have to do, or what you want to do?" Eleanor asked. Though she could be self-absorbed at times (and Eleanor was no stranger to self-absorption), Lily truly wanted the best for the people she loved, and if that meant sacrificing her own happiness, she would do it.

This time, Lily's smile was full of light, the lines on her face disappearing completely. "Both."

...

Chuck frowned at the sight in the corner of the room - Carter and Jack appeared deep in discussion as Diana listened, a bored expression on her face. She sipped a martini every few seconds as Jack grew visibly more agitated. Carter, on the other hand, appeared largely impassive, about as uninvested in the result of the conversation as Diana. What had Jack so angry? And why was Carter so nonchalant about it?

Before he could come up with any possibilities, Carter slipped away, disappearing into the large crowd in a matter of seconds.

Chuck supposed it was better this way - Jack would be much easier to confront without Carter in his presence, and Chuck didn't want to be anywhere near Carter in the first place. How Baizen had managed to get into the party was beyond his imagination; he knew security was tight, and his ex-friend was most definitely not on the guest list, but he would deal with that later. First he needed to talk to his uncle.

"Ah, there's my favorite nephew," Jack said, his face still flushed with patches of red from his encounter with Carter. "Congratulations are in order, I suppose."

"Cut the shit, Jack. Why were you talking with Baizen?"

Jack visibly swallowed, and his eyes darted to Diana as if searching for help. She raised an eyebrow and shrugged, going back to her martini.

"Oh you know, the usual small talk," he said, attempting to hide his discomfort in a cocky grin. "The weather, the decor, how hot the cocktail waitresses are..."

"Right," Chuck said flatly. He took two deliberate steps toward his uncle, a scowl on his face. "Listen, Jack. I still don't trust you, and you're not giving me any reason to change that. So why don't you tell me what's really going on with Baizen?"

"Like I told you-"

"Well, I'm telling you that I don't buy it, and you better give me something more convincing than that bullshit before I have you thrown out of here along with him. Or worse."

Jack's eyes darkened, and he stood up straighter. "Is that a threat, dear nephew?"

"Most definitely," Chuck said, his voice low. "You have no idea what Baizen is capable of."

This time, Jack laughed at Chuck's words, a snicker that was at once condescending and sardonic. "On the contrary, Charles, I know exactly what Carter Baizen is capable of."

"You don't want to tell me?" asked Chuck. "Fine. You can go. And take her with you," Chuck added, pointing at Diana, who had yet to say a word or stop drinking. She had another martini waiting for her on one of the cocktail tables and began downing it without comment.

"Gladly," said Jack, starting to turn toward the door. He stopped short, appearing to think better of it, and returned to Chuck, getting uncomfortably close to his face. "You may want to consider, however, that it's you who has no idea what Carter Baizen is capable of. Be careful, nephew. Be very careful."

With that, he took Diana's arm, and together, they were lost in the sea of colorful gowns and bubbling laughter.

...

"What do you think you're doing here?"

Georgina swiveled on her heels, nearly losing her balance due to the height of the Manolos. She was greeted with a face filled with disdain, from the puckered, pink lips to the cold, chocolate-colored eyes. "Blair."

"Don't look so surprised; this is my party you're crashing." Blair raised her brows mockingly. "Unless, of course, you're so intoxicated that you have no idea where you are."

Georgina sighed. Blair would hardly be easy to convince, but she had to talk to her in private. It was risky, obviously, but she hadn't seen Carter in nearly an hour, and God only knew what he was up to. If there was a possibility, even a tiny one, that she could help Chuck and Blair... Well, she supposed that Jesus camp might have done her some good, after all, because she could no longer stand idly by. There was a gnawing at her gut (likely the closest thing she had to a conscious) and it had begun tearing through her insides, allowing her no rest or peace of mind.

She knew what she had to do.

"Ow!" Blair yelped in protest as Georgina's nails dug into her arm. It wasn't difficult for Georgina to drag the more petite girl into the bathroom; Blair had never been particularly athletic despite her somewhat impressive antics during field hockey.

Once they reached the bathroom, Georgina locked the door and checked under each stall to ensure that they wouldn't be overheard. She was already taking a necessary risk; there was no need to add unnecessary ones on top of it.

"What the hell is going on?" Blair snapped, her eyes sparkling in anger. They nearly outshone her diamond-encrusted headband. Nearly.

"I'm not sure how to begin," said Georgina, surprisingly nervous. She was supposed to be the girl who was wildly confident, the one who did whatever she wanted and never apologized for any of it. Then again, Georgina realized, she hadn't been that girl in a long time. Maybe she never would be again.

"Well, in case you hadn't noticed, I'm a bit busy celebrating my marriage and all." Blair already appeared exasperated, but how was Georgina supposed to go about telling her that the man she'd just pledged to spend an eternity with had an expiration date? Plus, that expiration date could be tonight if Carter was successful.

"Blair, just listen to me." Georgina infused as much sincerity into her expression as she could; hopefully Blair would be able to read the honesty in her face. "The accident you and Chuck were in - it was no accident. You were set up-"

"What?" interjected Blair, looking furious. "I know you're a pathological liar, but this is low even for you."

"I'm not lying. Look, I wish I could tell you more, but all I know is that someone - someone extremely determined - wants you dead, so badly that he or she has resorted to a Russian crime syndicate to ensure that it happens."

Blair snorted. "You mean this person has sicked the Russian mob on Chuck?"

Georgina ignored the sarcasm and answered the question truthfully. "It's not the mob exactly. It's like a business specializing in carrying out crimes for wealthy people who don't want to get their hands dirty." She shook her head, her dark waves following the motion. "I know the story is sketchy, but even I don't have all of the details - I know hardly anything, actually, but I'm trying to help you here." She waited, studying her former enemy's face for any indication of acceptance. Suddenly, Blair's lips curled into a smile.

"Wow, I am truly impressed. This is your best scheme yet, though I'm not sure what your endgame is."

Sighing, Georgina turned toward to the mirror. God, she looked even worse. Her hair was still flat and dull despite her best efforts to fix it, and her skin, a light, nearly translucent grey, looked sickly, as did the gauntness of her cheeks and sharpness of her chin. She was turning into a skeleton, something out of a horror movie. It was her eyes, though, that were the most disturbing - the dark circles underneath them were as purple and thick as bruises, which her concealer could not effectively hide, and the blue eyes themselves were bloodshot, wide, and haunted.

"Look at me, Blair," said Georgina softly, turning back to face the shorter woman. Though Georgina was taller, right now, she felt small. Weak. Frail. "You can see it in my face, can't you? That I'm dying from the inside out because of this?"

"You look awful, but that doesn't prove anything."

"Okay," said Georgina, switching tactics. "If I were lying, how would I know that the brakes in the limo didn't work because the brake fluid had been drained? How would I know that Chuck's blood type is AB negative? How would I know that the first transfusion didn't work?" Georgina's cool blue eyes narrowed. "That was no accident, either. The blood bag was switched." She watched as Blair's mouth dropped open, her hand flying to cover her heart. Finally, she was understanding.

"Oh my God."

"I know it's a lot, but Blair, you have to stay calm, okay? Carter is in on it too, and he's here. I'm not sure where, but-"

"Oh my God! Oh my God!" Blair's breaths were growing shallower, and her eyes darted around the bathroom, seemingly latching onto nothing.

"Keep it together!" Georgina grabbed Blair's shoulders, her grip not painful but unmistakably firm. "You're going to be okay as long as we're proactive. Stay far away from Carter; tell Chuck to do the same." The feeling of assuredness that had washed over Georgina was remarkable. Maybe Blair's panic was forcing her to act calmer than she had in weeks, or maybe she simply felt the immeasurable weight of guilt lifting off her chest. Either way, she felt she was doing the right thing for once in her life. "If you can," she continued, Blair still silent, seemingly in shock, "kick Carter out all together."

Blair nodded, her eyes large and worried.

"And here." Georgina reached into her bead-encrusted clutch and took from it a plain, black flip phone. "This is a disposable cell phone. I'll use it to keep in touch whenever I find out anything that could be useful."

When Blair finally spoke, her voice was hardly above a whisper. "I-I don't understand. Why are you telling me all of this? And why are you even part of it in the first place?" She placed her pale hands over Georgina's, sending a shock of cold through Georgina's body as she remembered that it wasn't just her own safety she was putting at risk by helping Blair. Milo was in danger, too, and she wouldn't be able to live with herself if anything happened to him.

"I have to go," she said, sliding her hands back and grabbing her things. "I promise to stay in contact, but I've said too much already."

With that, she slipped out of the bathroom door, leaving Blair alone and shivering in fear.

...

"B!"

Blair whipped her head around, recognizing the voice of her best friend. "Serena, thank God!"

"I'm sorry, Nate and I got sidetracked in the coat room," she said, giggling. "I brought you a baby gift, though, if that makes you feel better!"

Blair pinched her nose, attempting to calm herself down. "Serena, though you're exhibiting extraordinarily poor taste by bringing me a baby gift to this event, we have much more serious issues to contend with. I have to find Chuck and Carter. Now."

Serena gasped. "Carter is here?"

"Yes, and it's essential that we find him right away." Blair pushed through the small crowd in front of her, ignoring an older woman's cries as she dropped her cocktail shrimp and dribbled bright red sauce onto her dress. Various guests turned to look at the brunette, whose face was a mix of terror and rage, hardly a common combination for a bride, but then again, Blair was not a typical bride, and these were not typical circumstances. Sometimes Blair found herself wishing she could life a boring, middle-class life in suburbia. White picket fence, 2.3 kids, maybe even a dog. God knew things would be simpler.

"B, what is going on? Talk to me," Serena implored, following Blair as she darted in and out of the crowd.

"I will, I promise, but right now, I don't have time." Blair stopped short as she spotted a familiar blonde head. "Jenny!"

"Blair! It's so good to see you, you look beau-"

"Jenny, there's no time for pleasantries. I need to know if you've seen Chuck or Carter Baizen." Blair attempted to keep her voice even; she could feel herself on the verge of hysteria, her voice itching to grow shrill and loud. "It's an emergency."

"O-okay," said Jenny, looking concerned. "I saw Chuck walking up to the roof a couple minutes ago, and I'm pretty sure Carter followed him. Is-is something wrong? Is Chuck in trouble?"

"Not if I have anything to say about it," said Blair, running in the direction of the stairwell. Serena, hot on her heels, continued to ask questions, but Blair ignored her. She didn't have time. Time was running out. Her shoes clicked as she sprinted up the stairs, and she broke a sweat in a matter of seconds. Faster, she chastised herself. Faster.

As Blair reached the door labelled "ROOF," she sighed in relief only to realize that she had no idea what awaited her when she opened the door. Her heart stuck in her throat. She had no choice, though, did she? Whatever happened, she and Chuck were in it together. Reaching for the door handle, she cast a silent prayer that Chuck was okay. She needed Chuck to be okay.

The metal door gave way easily, surprisingly light for something so large. It was dark, the only illumination the lights of other buildings in the area. Blair couldn't help but wish she and Chuck were relaxing peacefully in one of those buildings, just one yellow window of the millions in New York. Instead, she had to take each step carefully, using the minimal light, as well as keep her eyes and ears open for Carter or Chuck.

"Carter," Serena whispered, causing Blair to jump in surprise.

"Where?"

Serena pointed to the left side of the roof, where Carter was nearly ensconced in shadows, the night giving him a shroud of secrecy. The blackness, however, could not hide the glint of the gun sticking out of his waistband.

"I don't understand," said Serena, her face horrified.

Blair didn't either - there was security in place here; the uniformed men had checked names on a guest list as well as searched every item the guests brought in. Bart had been adamant that they hire the very best to keep his son, daughter-in-law, and future grandchild safe, and Blair had thought of no reason to argue. She'd wanted to feel safe too, and yet, despite Bart's top-notch security, Carter had not only managed to sneak in, but also, he'd been able to bring a gun, or at the very least, he'd been able to get it from someone already at the party. None of it seemed plausible.

"We have to go back down and get help," Serena whispered in Blair's ear, her tone even more panicked than before.

Maybe there was a time when Blair would have agreed, would have done what was perhaps the most logical thing to do, but now she couldn't. She couldn't because she saw Chuck standing alone on the rooftop, gazing at the New York City skyline, thoughtful but oblivious.

Blair knew it was reckless, but she did what she'd always done, what she'd continue to do for the rest of her life.

She ran to Chuck's side.

"Blair, don't!" Serena called, the sound catching in her throat. It was too late - Carter had seen them both.

"Blair?" asked Chuck, as she slammed into his side and wrapped her arms tightly around his waist.

At the same time, Carter began to laugh. "Hello there, Mrs. Bass," he said, the remains of laughter etched into his grin.

"Why are you doing this, Carter?" Blair asked, not in the mood or the mindset to play games. Not with Carter. Not with anyone. Not anymore. "Why do you have a gun?"

Blair could feel Chuck tense in her embrace but gave a slight shake to her head. She couldn't tell him what'd she'd learned in front of Carter. That would put Georgina seriously at risk, not to mention, Blair would lose her only source of information on whatever madness still awaited them.

Carter stroked his chin, a facade of a man deep in thought. He paced, his steps deliberate and stiff, and he removed the gun from his waistband to caress it almost lovingly in his hands. "You know the part at the end of the movie where the bad guy explains his evil plan when he's about to kill the hero?" he asked, stopping his motions to look at the three of them in turn.

For a moment, it was deafeningly quiet, the silence broken only by the honks of cars that seemed so far away they couldn't possibly be real. Nothing going on below this roof - the shared laughter, the shared kisses, the shared humanity - felt as if it could be connected to them. Blair pulled her arms tighter around Chuck.

"Yes, I know that part of typical hero movies," said Blair, realizing that Carter would wait an eternity for answer if he had to, despite the fact that his question was rhetorical. He'd always had a talent for making things more difficult than they had to be.

Carter nodded his head as if giving Blair's answer his approval. "And then you know the part where everything for the villain goes horribly wrong, and the hero is both alive and aware of his entire plan?"

"Yes," Blair snapped immediately, but before Carter could resume speaking, he was interrupted.

"Everything has already gone horribly wrong for you, wouldn't you agree?" Chuck asked. "I'm not sure it could get worse at this point."

Blair squeezed her eyes shut, inwardly willing Chuck to shut up. Did he not realize that Carter wasn't joking around with this? Did he not realize that his own life was in danger?

Luckily, the gun did not go off, instead remaining a lethal accessory in Carter's hands. "You think you're fucking clever," Carter spat, "insulting the man with the gun?" He laughed again, a deep, throaty, horrific laugh that made Blair shiver. "You know what? I've changed my mind." Carter lifted his arms and walked toward the ledge of the building. "How about it, New York? You want to hear about a real genius?" He jumped down, twisting the silver weapon in his hands and resuming his pacing. "I've been so very methodical this time. So very organized and prepared."

Unsure whether to press him for information, Blair elected to remain silent, hoping Carter would offer it willingly.

"Obviously, I couldn't waltz into your big bash with a gun," said Carter, unknowingly fulfilling Blair's small hope. "I had a kitchen cook bring it and hide it in the pantry - the same cook let me in through the kitchen door, and believe me, he was paid very well for his troubles." Carter smirked, apparently impressed by his own intelligence. "I knew Chuck would go to the roof - it's a standard Chuck behavior and an idiotic one at that." He paused, his storm-colored eyes catching Blair's brown ones. "Almost as idiotic as you following him. Every. Single. Time."

Blair's cheeks flushed with anger, but there was nothing she could do at the moment. Carter had a gun, and she had nothing to defend herself with.

"Shame Serena had to join us, though," said Carter, sighing. "I've always had a soft spot for her..." His lips turned downward into overly-dramatic pout, and his eyes flashed with amusement. Or was it more than that? Had Carter truly gone mad?

They were suddenly interrupted by another set of footsteps. They grew closer by the second, but Carter appeared nonchalant, lighting a cigarette as if he hadn't a care in the world.

"No," Blair whispered, recognizing the addition to the group.

Things would only get worse from here.

...

Bart Bass was not happy. That was obvious to Serena from the moment she saw him on the roof, but if his appearance left any doubts, his words erased them.

"What is meaning of this?" he demanded, arms folded across his broad chest. "Lily informed me that she saw Blair and Serena frantically running up to the roof and that Blair looked absolutely terrified."

"Bart, listen, you need to-"

"I don't believe we've had the pleasure," said Carter, cutting in before Serena could warn him. Her warning likely wouldn't have helped anyway, but she'd wanted so badly to keep him out of it. He'd had enough to worry about during the past month.

Shocking all of them, Carter offered Bart his gun to shake in place of his hand. "Carter Baizen," he said brazenly.

"Wh-what is going on?" Bart questioned, backing away from the younger man, who then reluctantly lowered his weapon. "What do you want? Whatever your intentions, I'm willing to pay, if you'll just-"

"You think money can solve everything, old man?" asked Carter. His dark laugh returned, laced with poison and hatred. "How ignorant of you. Money can't solve this; there's only one way it can end, and that's with your son's dead body lying on the ground."

Serena could almost feel Bart's heart shatter into a million pieces, and hers wasn't far behind. So this was why Blair had been so afraid earlier - she must have found out somehow and was trying to locate either Chuck or Carter in time to stop it. Serena looked at her best friend, whose eyes were filled with tears. Blair's chin trembled. She was trying to hold in a sob.

"You should be greatful, Big Bad Bart - that's what they used to call you, isn't it? What Chuck used to call you, if I'm not mistaken." He snickered, the gun swinging lazy at his side. "Anyway, you should be pleased that your pride and joy got to live this long; it's a goddamn miracle he hasn't already died of alcohol or drug abuse."

Bart's face reddened, and his hands clenched into fists by his side. "Nothing is going to happen, do you hear me? Security is due to come up to the roof if I don't return in..." He paused, checking his watch. "Six minutes."

Bart's words didn't have what Serena presumed to be the desired effect; instead of growing worried or discouraged, Carter looked thrilled.

"Wonderful," he said, smiling. "Better speed things up then." With that, he raised the gun, pointing at Chuck and Blair. Serena held her breath, itching to run toward her friends but knowing that it would only make things worse. She'd always known that Carter was dark, that he had something unnatural lodged in his heart, something uglier and grittier than Serena could comprehend, but she never could have imagined this. Carter was enjoying this, and he wasn't attempting to hide it. Had he been born sadistic and cruel, or had his circumstances shaped him into this monster? Even if it were the latter, Serena still couldn't muster an ounce of sympathy for the man she'd once called a friend, the man she'd once been involved with romantically. He was a liar, always had been, and now he was well on his way to becoming a killer. "So," Carter said casually. "S and Big Bad Bart, who do you think I should shoot first? Personally, I'd prefer to kill Mrs. Bass prior to Mr. Bass in order to prolong his suffering, but I'll certainly place your opinions into consideration." Then he smiled, the sickest, most twisted smile Serena had ever seen.

The smile of a devil.

...

Chuck felt his stomach drop at Carter's words. His negative impression of Carter, which began in his junior year of high school, had been proven correct a hundred times over, but he found no satisfaction in it. There was no sweet victory in the loss of Carter's moral character. It was debatable whether he'd had any to begin with, but certainly there must have been something there, something that had been crushed into a million pieces and left to float away like dust in the wind.

Whatever Carter decided to do now, Chuck knew that he would protect Blair by any means necessary. Before he had the chance to think through his options, however, Serena began to scream at Carter, her entire, willowy frame shaking in rage. Carter appeared momentarily taken aback, and, fully absorbed by Serena, he allowed the gun to waver. It was a miniscule window of opportunity, but it was enough. Chuck would have to make a move.

"You son of a bitch!" Serena was shouting. "You sickening little fucker! You disgust me, you-"

As her rant continued, Chuck realized that the idea had occurred to more than just him - his father was already moving, running toward Carter as quickly as his age would allow.

There was an audible crack as Carter hit the cement of the roof, Bart on top of him.

"Shouldn't have done that, old man!" Carter yelled, cradling his wrist as the gun slid across the ground. Both he and Bart rose and scrambled toward the weapon, which was quickly approaching the edge of the building.

"Go," Chuck said, addressing Blair and Serena. "Now is your chance. Tell security that they need to come now."

Blair's eyelids fluttered, and her lips parted. She was panicking; that much was obvious. "I-I can't leave you. That would be - no, I can't; I won't."

"Blair." His tone left little room for argument. "It isn't just you that you have to look out for now."

She looked down at her stomach. It was still flat, but she ran her fingers over it as if she could feel the life in it.

She nodded silently, kissing his cheek for a lingering moment before slipping out of his arms. "Come on, Serena."

The two girls fled the rooftop, their fingers interlocked and their hair whipping behind them. Chuck wanted to relax knowing that his wife and sister were safe, but it was impossible. His father was still in a power struggle with a maniac, and Chuck could hear various grunts of pain and shouts of brief triumph from across the rooftop. His eyes frantically searched the area before landing on the far east corner, where Bart appeared to have Carter in a chokehold.

Chuck couldn't decide who looked worse. His father's nose was bleeding profusely, and he had a nasty looking cut from his forehead to his left brow; Carter, though not bleeding, already had the foundation of a black eye, and his wrist appeared to be giving him a significant amount of trouble.

He had to get over there, had to ensure that Carter didn't get that gun back.

Though he wasn't a practiced runner, Chuck felt as if his feet hardly touched the ground as he made his way over to his father's side. He had no idea what he could do, what he should do, but he refused to allow Bart to fight his battles for him. Besides, this was more than just a fight with Carter. This was war.

"Get back, Dad! Now!"

As Bart moved out of the way, Chuck threw all of his strength against Carter's body, pinning him to the ground.

"Oh, Chucky," said Carter, his words strained and his voice hoarse under Chuck's weight. "That was a big mistake." Carter's laugh was mixed with harsh coughs, and Chuck narrowed his eyes suspiciously. A big mistake?

Suddenly, Chuck felt the sharpened tip of a knife stab into his calf, and his hands moved toward the wound of their own accord.

"What the-"

"Little idea I got from an old Batman cartoon," said Carter, clearly pleased with himself as he rolled out of Chuck's grasp. The knife blade sticking out of the sole of his shoe was small but effective, and Chuck winced as his leg throbbed in pain. "The Joker is an inspiration of mine."

"You've done a swell job adopting his level of insanity."

"Thank you." Carter grinned, his white teeth shining in the darkness. "But when I said you made a mistake, that's not what I meant." He pulled the gun from behind his back, waving it in the air in victory. "You threw me right on top of this little bad boy. Thanks for helping me kill you."

Chuck felt as if one hundred of those little knives had pierced his chest. This was really how it was going to end? By Carter's hand on a darkened rooftop, a gunshot to his head or his heart? He supposed there was nothing left to do - Carter had the gun; he and Bart were defenseless, and attempting to overpower Carter wasn't worth the risk. Chuck couldn't bear it if his father had to pay the price for his mistake. He could tell that Bart wanted to try, but he shook his head silently. No. The possibility of failure was too high.

"I'd ask you for your last words, but I really don't give a shit what they are." With that, Carter raised the gun, released the safety, and aimed for Chuck's heart.

The gunshot seemed to ring through all of New York.

Chuck's ears held the echoes of the shot, like waves were crashing over and over into the sides of his head. The sound washed over him; his eyes were closed, so sound was all he had.

Why couldn't he feel any pain?

He wondered why his heart hadn't yet burst, why he couldn't feel thick streams of blood running down his body and pooling at his feet. How was he still standing? How was any of this real?

"Chuck? Chuck!"

Someone was shaking his shoulders; the man's hands were strong and cold.

"Charles, open your eyes!"

It was his father; that was his father's voice. Chuck listened and opened his eyes, but he was unprepared for the sight in front of him.

Carter lay on the ground, his legs spread wide and his hands empty of any weapons. On his chest bloomed a scarlet rose, and his blue eyes were vacant and unseeing. One of the many security men now on the rooftop knelt at his side, two fingers against Carter's pale neck. Chuck guessed that the guards had arrived just as Carter aimed to kill, and they'd had no choice but to fire their own guns. He was grateful, of course. Carter wasn't exactly a great loss to humankind. At the same time, though, it was difficult to see another human being look so empty, so purposeless, the color visibly draining from his face and body.

"Well?" Bart barked.

The guard next to Carter rose to his feet, his legs creaking from the strain. His face appeared solemn, and he shook his head. "No pulse. Mr. Bass, that man is dead."

...

Still my hunger turns to greed

'Cause what about what I need?

Who's gonna save my soul now?

Tell me who's gonna save my soul now?

Ohh, I know I'm out of control now

Tired enough to lay my own soul down

Until next time, xoxo.

...

A/N: My inspiration has been at an all time low, but I have not given up on this story! It will have its happy ending, I promise!