They'd been on the road for what felt like hours. Rogers seemed far more frantic than an officer should be over a missing informant, but Jewell had found him, just about to break the window to one of the only remaining patrol cars in order to 'borrow' it to go looking for the girl. Tilly. She'd been Weaver's once upon a time, which made Jewell wary of her, but since the slick little man had been shot by her, she'd seemed to latch onto Rogers.

And Rogers onto her.

So William had led Rogers to his own SUV, far more suited to the snow than the lonely old car that had clearly been left behind for a reason. If it would make the younger detective feel better to be out looking for her, well, Jewell didn't have anything better to do with his night anyway.

"Where is she?" Killian kept mumbling, looking over his shoulder as if his older bro... as if his captain, his captain not his brother - not yet - would answer him.

Gothel's threat echoed in his ears. Liam was safe as long as he was still cursed, as long as he had no idea that the man sitting in the passenger seat was his brother rather than just his subordinate. As long as he had no idea that the stubborn young woman they were combing the streets for was his niece. Was Killian's little girl, long grown up while they were separated, but still the little one he'd held so carefully the day he'd found her in her tower.

He'd tried to bring Alice back to his flat, back under his watchful eye and under a bloody roof and with him, where they could hopefully make up for some of the lost time they'd suffered. But his little girl... his young woman now... was stubborn (clearly she came by it honestly) and she'd refused, skipping off with a riddle and a toothy grin that had never failed to get her what she wanted from him. Killian longed for the days when she wanted marmalade for every meal and to stay up late to see the stars and to sleep in her Papa's bed because it was cozier (which was only so once he'd been summarily squashed to one side and then to the floor. His Alice was an unrepentant bed hog).

Most days, he almost didn't mind granting her her freedom. She'd been trapped in that tower for so long, after all, he couldn't deny her the desire to sleep under the stars, in the freedom of wherever she wanted to be whenever she wanted to be. But there was a huge storm coming. The worst the city had seen in years, if the bloody weathermen were to be believed. He couldn't countenance seeing her spend the night shivering in the troll's lap or in the park or down by the water. Not when he had a breath left in his body to argue with her to come home - just for a few nights. Surely, she wouldn't deny him that.

Night was falling, and with it the temperatures. It had been unseasonably warm just last week, and Killian had thought he'd have more time to convince Alice to move into the apartment with him - just for the winter. She'd refused several times already, and he'd responded with a backpack full of blankets and hand warmers to show that he understood, but now... now he was too worried about what the night would bring and where she'd hunker down and if he'd find an Alice-popsicle once the storm had blown over.

"Where is she?" he mumbled again.

"We'll find her, Detective, don't worry," his brother... his captain reassured, turning down another side street towards one of the homeless camps that he knew had popped up recently. Gods, he just wanted Liam... William to wake up, to understand his worry, to... to...

He wanted his captain to never wake up if it meant that he'd be-

The screech of tires and the crunch of metal were the last things Killian heard before everything went black.

Gods, it all hurt. His legs were screaming, his face was burning, his arms were shooting pain, his chest felt like a dragon was sitting on it. Everything hurt. The world swam around him sickeningly and he could only imagine what would happen if he tried to open his eyes. He wasn't sure what had happened, not entirely, memories of driving around in the car looking for a girl... the girl... and then bright lights and darkness. He needed to open his eyes, he needed to make sure the car was off, he needed to check on...

A moan flitted through the car and he turned his head instinctively towards it. He wasn't alone in the car, he needed to make sure that his... that the owner of that moan was okay. But first, he needed to open his eyes and see what had happened, why he hurt, why that moan sounded even worse than everything he felt. They were in trouble and he needed to get help.

Killian's eyes finally fluttered open, the limb of a tree cutting across his field of vision and, thankfully, not cutting across anything else of his, the tips of the branches scratching across his face but not doing any real damage. The blood dripping down from his hairline was warm and was gluing his eye shut, the hot feel of swelling finishing the job and making everything seem closer than it really was.

All except Liam.

Liam, sitting in the seat next to him, his face buried in the airbag and frighteningly still, was so, so very far away from him, though Killian could have reached a few inches and touched his older brother's thigh. It hurt so very much to even think about moving, but he did it anyway, trying his best to bite back a moan as he reached out with his prosthetic until he could feel the echo of feeling vibrating along his arm. If he pretended, Killian could almost make himself think that he could feel the warmth of Liam's leg through his jeans.

"Li-" he bit off his plea. Try again, Jones, he thought bitterly, Gothel's threat again in his ears. "Captain?" Nothing. Silence filled the air in the rapidly cooling car.

Killian turned slowly, igniting a hundred different insults and injuries as he did so, needing to reach out with his right hand, needing to touch his brother's skin, to feel for warmth, to check for a pulse. He'd heard the moan, knew that his brother was alive, but it didn't help the fear, didn't change the fact that he needed to feel his brother's life beat under his fingers.

He couldn't reach across the damned car for the bloody tree between them.

Growling angrily, Killian worked at snapping at the branches, piling the wood uselessly on the console between them, trying to ignore the twinges and the blood and the fire that each movement caused.

He needed... he needed Liam.

He needed his big brother.

Trying to reach through the branches made his breaths come short and sweat beaded on his upper lip. If he hadn't broken ribs in the crash, then he would buy a lottery ticket and give it to Alice when they got out of this. She'd be a bloody millionaire. The branches scratched at his arm, at his face, but he persisted, trying to worm his right arm awkwardly through to get to Liam's throat. If he could just...

A stab of pain shot through his back and shoulder, forcing him to instinctively pull his hand back and cradle his arm to his chest. Damn, that hurts, he thought, biting his lip until the sharp pains died down.

Frustration came next, burning deep in his gut and mixing with the anger that came from realizing that they'd been run off the road - whether by accident or by design, he wasn't sure - and that no one was coming to their aid. Grabbing the tree limb with both hands, Killian shook it angrily, taking out his frustration and-

"Argggggh!"

Gods, he never wanted to hear that noise come from his brother's throat again.

"Please... detect... ive. Don- don't do that... again."

Killian's hand froze on the tree branches, his frustration fading out like the ebb of a retreating tide and replaced with the hot, bubbling feeling of guilt. He'd just hurt Liam.

"I'm... I'm sorry," he whispered, shaking a little. "Are you all right? Captain?"

There was a few moments of silence save for the whistling of the wind as it picked up. Killian tried not to hold his breath, tried not to count the number of times Liam inhaled shakily before he found his voice.

"Aye." It was a little bit choked, but it was music to Killian's ears. "Just... don't do that again, please?"

Killian nodded jerkily, though Liam wasn't looking at him to see. "Of course. I didn't mean to-"

"It's fine, Detective," Liam paused, and Killian found himself wishing that Liam would just turn his head and look at him. "Are you all right?"

Killian hadn't really taken stock. Everything hurt, yes, but it was his ribs giving him the most trouble. That and whatever white-hot pain that was still attacking his back and shoulder. His legs hurt, but it seemed to be more the abrupt stop caused by the trunk of the tree rather than actual injury as he could move them well eno-

Nope. Check that, he could move his left leg without too much difficulty, but he was in no hurry to try moving the right one again any time soon. Not unless Liam needed-

"Detective?" There was a note of worry - nearly masked by the pain - in Liam's voice.

"I'll be all right," Killian allowed. "What happened?"

Liam scoffed, rolling his head to finally, finally look at Killian. There was blood dripping down the side of his face and his eyes were glassy. "I was hoping you could tell me that."

"I don't know," Killian admitted. He hadn't been paying attention to their surroundings, worried far more for Alice than for himself and his broth- the man sitting next to him in the godsdamned car and bleeding from at least one place that Killian could see. He didn't know if it was an accident or on purpose, if it had been bloody Gold, Gothel or even Rapunzel, Tremaine, whatever her bloody name was. Had it merely been the gnarled hands of the Fates, making the roads slick and sending some innocent passerby into their thread?

Whatever the reason, they were stuck in the woods in a car that didn't work and very little left of a windshield that might have helped to conserve some of their body heat.

"Do you have blankets in here? An emergency kit?"

Liam grunted sadly. "Of course. In the trunk."

Killian's head slammed back against the headrest, making him see stars and making his stomach roll. Might as well be in the bloody station for all the good it did them there. He tried to move his leg again, fiery pain working its way from his calf all the way up into his hip and shooting up his spine, leaving him gasping.

"Rogers?" There was enough alarm in Liam's voice to cut through the pain. He'd sounded so much like the brother Killian remembered now, the one who had looked after him as a child and who he thought he'd lost for good. Gods, Killian just wanted to hear Liam call him by name. By his real name.

He wouldn't even complain if Liam called him 'little' brother.

Well, not much anyway.

"Detective. Answer me, that's an order!" Liam demanded.

Oh. He'd drifted off there for a moment.

"I'm here," was all he could manage through clenched teeth.

He heard movement next to him, tried to open his eyes to see what Liam was doing. He felt the branch moving next to his head, heard Liam's sharp grunts of pain. Needing to stop his brother from injuring himself, Killian wrenched his arm away from his leg and reached across the console to lay his prosthetic on Liam's thigh again.

"I'm here."

Killian heard the pointed whoosh of relief that escaped from Liam even as he felt the muscles of his brother's thigh relax.

"Don't do that again," Liam whispered. It clenched at Killian in a way he wished it wouldn't. Liam would, of course, be that worried about him - at all times in all situations, even when he'd only gotten a (in his opinion, anyway) rather large splinter in his foot as a boy and was clearly in minimal danger - but Captain Jewell, while he had always shown a bit of preferential treatment towards Rogers (Killian thought it was a hint of his true nature peeking through the curse) he didn't have the same familial attachment.

But damn if it didn't sound like he did.

"I'm sorry," Killian whispered through the silence, unsure if he was apologizing for frightening his captain or for getting his brother into this in the first place. They were out here because of him. They were in trouble, again, because of him. They were always in dire straits of some sort because of him. Liam's life had always been fraught with peril because of him.

"What happened?" Liam asked again. "Where are we?"

What?!

"Li- Captain?"

Liam shifted, bit back a gasp, and reached down to snag Killian's prosthetic hand. "What's wrong with you? You're hurt?"

"Aye," Killian felt shaky with the depth of his relief. He'd thought for a moment that-

"What are we doing out here?"

Bloody hell.

"We were in an accident. We were looking for Al- for Tilly. Do you remember that?"

It seemed like an eternity passed (and he'd spent centuries in Neverland for gods' sake) before Liam responded with an unsure, "Aye."

Killian shivered, and it wasn't entirely from the cold. "Are you all r-"

"You didn't answer my question."

Killian hadn't cried in a long time. Not since the day he'd had to leave Alice behind, his heart cursed and shattering under their shared grief. He wanted to break down and sob now.

"Are. You. All. Right?" Liam spoke slowly, as if to a child.

Oh.

"Aye, my leg's trapped, I think. I'm all right, br- sir."

There was shuffling next to him and Killian could feel Liam's leg moving as he tried to... to what? What was his brother doing? The branch shook and Killian grabbed it out of instinct, trying to keep it still so that it wouldn't injure Liam further. "What are you doing?" he asked hotly, defensive when anyone was hurting his brother.

Even if it was his brother hurting himself.

"Checking on you," Liam responded as if Killian had asked him what time it was. He shifted again, and this time bit back a cry.

"Stay still, damn it. You're going to start bleeding worse."

Liam stopped moving and Killian breathed out a sigh of relief.

"Bleeding?"

Killian's head whipped around to face his brother, biting back a cry of his own when that made everything hurt. He started carefully breaking the branches again, this time far more careful not to shake the main limb as he did so. He had to see how badly Liam was hurt. He had to know if... if...

If he was going to lose his brother before he really got him back.

"Hurts," Liam whispered, his face coming more and more into view as the damned pine branches finally started to cooperate.

Killian grimaced. "I know, b... but I've got to... do you have a knife?"

There was some more shifting and grunting, but Killian held the tree limb steady until the sound of metal dropping into the console startled him. He grabbed the tactical blade and made short work of the rest of the small branches, finally able to see his brother, see where the tree limb led, see the grotesque scene that Liam was either ignoring or shockingly unaware of.

He'd been lucky - if you could call being stuck on the end of a tree limb like a lollipop lucky. But it hadn't impaled his chest, lodging in the muscle of his upper arm instead. There would be damage there, yes, and he was still bleeding, far too pale for Killian's liking, and his eyes were glassy - seemingly unaware of his predicament - but he could survive that.

Provided, of course, that they got out of the bloody car and to medical aid before they froze to death.

"One more, brother, can you hold on for me?"

Liam nodded, clenching his teeth and bringing his left hand up to clutch at his arm. He cried out as Killian sliced through the end of the limb, leaving a fairly sizeable piece protruding from his arm, but no longer attached to the rest of the godsdamned tree. Killian shoved it back a little, using it as the best he could to block the wind while still giving him some room to move.

"Damn it, Liam. This is still bleeding."

Liam turned his head, staring at the wood in his arm as if he hadn't known it was there before.

Killian squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. They were in trouble.

"Det... Detective, please."

It felt like ice water had been dumped over his head. He'd forgotten, for a moment, just who he was in the car with. He'd forgotten...

"I just... I need a moment," Liam practically begged when Killian tried to push against the puckered skin around the stake of wood.

Killian grimaced, but kept up the pressure. "I have to stop the bleeding. Just a little more, all right? I promise," he lied.

Liam had lied to him like that, once upon a time (several once upon a time's ago) when the gashes on his back had been just a little too deep, just a little too ragged. It was all fair in love and war, and... and it didn't make Killian feel any better to lie about what he was doing.

"Just a moment... please? Please, just let... let me catch my... breath. Hurts."

Killian shivered. Liam was the strong one, the one who never let on like this. Killian tried; he'd always tried to be as strong as Liam, but never quite measured up. He'd long ago put his brother up on a pedestal and Liam set the bar so high that Killian knew that, with all his screw ups, he'd never get there.

"It's all right, Ca-Captain. I've almost got it."

"Please," he begged again.

There was so much godsdamned blood, dripping from the wound, staining the shirt underneath, soaking into his jeans. It was trickling, and Killian sent up a plea and a prayer of thanks that that's all it was doing, but Liam couldn't afford for this not to stop.

"I need to get the..." he trailed off, looking over his shoulder as best he could. The trunk seemed to be miles away, but with the tree branch out of the way, he could - maybe - climb through the backseat and get to the-

"Rogers?"

"Right here, I'm right here. Are you all right?"

"'m cold. Why's it so cold?"

Gods, he needed that kit, those blankets.

"Where in the trunk are the blankets?" Killian asked, more to keep Liam talking than to figure anything out. "In the wheel well? Or just thrown in the back?"

He knew better. There were plenty of things that had changed in Liam under the curse - namely that one cold case that Killian couldn't tell him wasn't really real. It was, in a sense. But Liam's lit... younger brother was sitting right next to him. But even curses and centuries couldn't drum one thing out of William Jewell, Liam Jones, whoever he was today.

He was a regimented neat freak.

"Left side of the trunk, behind the tactical vests."

See?

"All right, do you have-"

"Why did you call me that?"

Bloody hell, what now?

"Call you what?"

Liam reached out and snagged Killian's arm, garnering his full attention. "Liam. No one's called me Liam in years. Not since… not since my little brother… since we were..."

Bloody buggering hell.

"I won't do it again, if it-"

"No!" Liam interrupted, then seemed almost to shrink in on himself. "No. I… I don't mind. Not with you."

Killian's breath caught in his throat. "All right. L-Liam. I'm going to try and get into the backseat. Keep talking to me, all right? Tell me about..." he trailed off. He didn't want Liam to talk about the little brother he thought he had raised.

Gothel's threat rang in his ears again. Liam was only safe as long as he didn't remember Killian.

"How about I tell you about my first case?" Liam asked when Killian was silent for too long.

He nodded absently, working his hand down towards his seatbelt and trying to make the prosthetic work. "Aye, I haven't heard that one." He had. But Liam didn't seem to remember that.

Liam droned on as Killian finally freed himself from the belt and shoved the airbag out of the way. He shivered as a gust of wind rattled the car, reminding him of the urgency.

And then he twisted, trying to contort his body so that he could slither through to the backseat.

He didn't realize he was screaming in agony until everything went black, Liam's shouts fading into the darkness.

The scream echoed through the SUV until Jewell wanted to clap his hands over his ears to shut it out. It was terrifying. It was the kind of shout that haunted your nightmares and your waking moments if you let down your defenses for a split second. It rattled him from the inside out, make him shake with fear and call out, begging Rogers to stop. To please, just be quiet and tell him what was wrong.

It roiled his stomach, that shout, making him nauseated and weak. If he thought he could have managed it, if just the idea of moving his arm didn't make him nearly pass out from the pain emanating from that bloody stake in his arm, he'd have turned and shook Rogers, clapped a hand over his mouth, anything to make him just please, please stop.

Anything to get a word in edgewise and figure out what was making him scream like that.

And then it was silent. Deadly silent like they'd been sucked into a vacuum and any words between them would have withered away before they could even be formed.

"R-Rogers?" he ventured, his voice shaky from more than just the loss of blood.

There was nothing. No movement, no words, nothing but the stuttered breathing from his detective that eventually evened out. Not into the sound of sleep, but easy enough to make out in the silence of the car.

"Rogers, please," he begged, not knowing what he needed from the man.

Just a word. Just one word, a grunt, anything. Some sign that the man in the car next to him would be all right.

"Bloody hell," he murmured to himself, reaching shakily through what Rogers had left of the branches until he could lay his hand on the other man's arm. White hot agony shot out from the gash in his own arm, the wood embedded there shaking with his effort to move.

Rogers was cold.

Not the bone chilling cold of death, not the way his little brother had felt in his arms that day, cold and stiff and so, so alone - even wrapped up in William's arms and coat even though it wasn't enough, he hadn't been enough to protect his only flesh and blood from... from that.

No, Rogers wasn't cold like that, but he was cold, trembling slightly even in unconsciousness.

Bloody hell, the goddamned blankets were in the trunk and he needed to get them. He needed to get Rogers warm, to find a way to get them help, to...

To keep his little brother safe from...

No! No, Rogers wasn't his brother. He'd failed his little brother and he couldn't help him now, but he could help Rogers. He could still keep this man, this man who trusted him and followed him.

He could help Rogers. If he could get the blankets, get him warm, then maybe get back up to the road and... and what?

What was he doing?

The blankets, right. He needed to get to the blankets. Get Kil- he shook his head, get Rogers warm, see what had made him scream, see if he could find their cell phones and hope that the storm wouldn't have picked up before he could get a call or a text out.

But first, he needed to get to the back of the car, to the left of the trunk, near where he stored the tactical vests.

Jewell twisted towards his right, trying to slither between the seats like he was sure Rogers had meant to do.

That was a stupendously awful idea.

He'd have to go out the door. Into the cold.

The wind wrapped around him as he stumbled out into the cold, the first flakes of snow pelting him and stinging his cheeks.

Where was he going?

The cold seeped in first, laying carefully over him like a wet blanket and making him shiver. The sound filtered in next, wind whipping around the car but strangely muted as if there was a tarp over the vehicle. Then the pain stabbed through him, radiating out from his leg and wrapping around his ribs then shooting up into his head. He wanted to curl up in a ball and let the darkness take him, but something was just out of reach. Something pressing and important, something that he needed to take care of before he could fade back into unconsciousness.

Something important. More important than escaping the pain. More important than him.

There were only two people in all the realms that fell into that category, and last he checked, his lost and found Alice wasn't here with them. He couldn't help her right now, but Liam-

Liam!

Killian's eyes shot open, his head whipping over to the driver's seat where Liam would be... should be...

Where the bloody buggering hell was his brother?

"Liam?" he called, his voice shaky now that he was consciously calling his brother by... he shouldn't, shouldn't tempt the Fates by treating his brother so familiarly, but Jewell... Liam had asked him to call him by name and Killian couldn't deny him that.

Not if it was all he'd get to have of his brother.

The godsdamned door was open. Had someone come? Weaver? Or Gothel? Or someone to help? Had they left him for dead, thinking that he'd been finished off by whatever had caused him to pass out before?

No, don't be silly, Jones. Liam wouldn't leave you behind.

So where was he? Had he gone for help? His arm... gods, his arm was still bleeding and it was downright frigid with the wind and the snow and the...

"Godsdamnit, brother, where are you?"

And then he saw it. His brother's boot - hopefully his booted foot and not just his boot - was just visible in the snow.

Oh gods. No, please. No.

"Liam! Liam!"

Killian reached for the seatbelt, forgetting that it was already undone, scrabbling at the empty clasp until his freedom filtered through. He slammed his shoulder against the passenger's side door, eyes on the red part of the locking mechanism that told him he should be able to get out of the bloody, godsdamned car.

"Liam! Brother, answer me!"

The door didn't budge.

Liam didn't move.

"ARGHH!" Killian snarled, nearly breaking off the handle in its stubborn, good-for-nothing need to stay firmly closed. He needed to get out of the bloody car and help his brother. He'd have to go over the console, work his way around the gearshift, and get out Liam's door.

Killian shoved at the pine branches that littered the space between the seats, worked the main limb as far out of the windshield as he dared, as careful as he could manage to keep the snow outside and what remained of the glass intact. He may need the insulation for Liam once he figured out what the bloody ponce had done.

Don't you know? He did it for you, the thought crept up unbidden, but he knew it was true. Whatever it was that Liam was doing, and the blankets and medical kit in the trunk were a pretty good guess, he'd done it for Killian.

The path clear, Killian took a deep breath and levered himself up out of the seat.

And started screaming again.

Don't pass out, can't pass out, he kept repeating, sinking back into the seat and gasping, trying to bat away the stars and the darkness that started to close in on him. Gulping back the nausea, Killian reached down the length of his pant leg, holding his breath as he got closer and closer to his knee, and just beyond to where the pain was igniting his leg.

Oh, gods, he bit back the bile, closing his eyes against the sickening feeling beneath his fingers.

The plastic of the door was jagged and broken, the metal of the frame bent inwards and sharp. But that wasn't what turned Killian's stomach, what made him pass out before and nearly again now.

No, it was the smooth, cold feel of bone, sticking out from the bloody mess of his skin and caught behind the metal of the door.

Killian let his head drop back against the headrest, panting with exertion and sick with pain. It was no use. His foot was wedged in so he couldn't move his leg even if each attempt hadn't made his vision go white and his stomach roll. He had to get out of the car, he had to get to Liam, he had to save his brother.

"Liam!" he shouted for what felt like the millionth time, frustration and worry bubbling up into anger as he tried to wrench his leg free again.

Damn, that hurts.

Shaking now, Killian grasped just over his knee, squeezing tightly and once again cursing the prosthetic that adorned his left arm. He missed his hook, not entirely sure he wanted to think about what he'd do with it to get to Liam, but far more used to that after centuries than used to the five semi-mobile fingers that never seemed to do just what he wanted.

And Liam still hadn't moved.

He wasn't sure if it had been minutes or hours since he'd first woken to Liam insensate in the snow, but it was enough time that his boot was covered in white and if he hadn't woken when he had, he might never have realized his brother was right there.

"Liam!" he yelled again, a trace of fear leaking into his brother's name. They needed help, and they needed it now.

No one was coming.

Killian slammed his head back again, ignoring the stars that erupted in his vision and trying to focus. If he could just...

Killian clenched his teeth and reached down towards his calf again. Liam would do it for him, Liam would be strong enough for him. He bit back a scream when his fingers touched his own bone again, but he ignored it as best he could and reached around the metal trapping the bone. He wrapped the prosthetic around his leg, the feel of the leather glove sliding over bone sickening. With both hands wrapped around his calf, Killian started to pull.

Bone screeched against metal, bile rose in his throat, fire licked at his leg. It didn't matter, he kept pulling, kept straining, kept trying to slide his foot out.

It hurt. Gods it hurt so bloody much, but he wouldn't stop. Not until he was free.

"BROTHER!" He screamed, loud and long into the silence.