Virgil woke with a gasp, heart hammering and chest heaving as he fought to control himself.

It was a dream. Just a dream.

But he could still feel the blade cutting into his side; throat burning as he struggled through the smoke, each step more painful than the last.

A sheen of sweat made his t-shirt stick, but Virgil shivered, trying to banish the images.

He glanced around. Then looked again, realising he was alone. Daylight flooded through the window: he must have slept for hours. Despite his fear, and the pain in his side, he felt stronger than before. He hadn't expected to wake up on his own though, not after what he'd told his father.

Pressing his hands against the mattress, Virgil shifted until he was both sitting up and leaning back, not willing to support his own weight. As he did, he saw a shadow the other side of the door, and relaxed. He wasn't alone, after all.

He had no idea what Scott was doing in the corridor. But knowing he was there was enough. Virgil watched Scott pace, and realised he was on the phone. No doubt he had stepped out so his voice didn't wake his brother.

Virgil stared for a few moments, but it wasn't the distraction he hoped - the discomfort wasn't fading. Not just the pain though - more than anything, it was a hot shower he wanted. To wash away the memories of that place, rinse free the feel of their hands holding him down.

No one being there to help didn't deter him. Taking a deep breath, he pushed the blankets back before swinging his legs around.

With his feet dangling above the ground, Virgil glanced at the door. Scott wouldn't be happy that he was moving. But his brother was still on the phone and Virgil was bored of waiting. He gritted his teeth, shifting his weight before easing himself upright.

He was standing. On his own. He didn't need help; they were all overreacting! A surge of pride shot through him, and he ignored the rational part of his mind telling him being this pleased was absurd.

But he should have known that was too easy, and he winced at a sharp scratch in his hand. Pulling out the line, Virgil twisted out of instinct to see where it led, and a fiery burn erupted in his side. His knees buckled; a stabbing agony driving deep through his torso; one hand resting over the wound while the other clutched the bed, adamant he wouldn't fall. If he hit the ground, he wouldn't get back up again – and knowing that was the second time he'd thought that recently didn't help.

He pulled his shaking hand away from his side, staring at the blood on his fingers. It had come through the dressing, through his shirt, and Virgil swore at the prospect of pulling the stitches free. The intensity of the pain wasn't fading, and as dark spots started flashing in his vision, Virgil realised that, maybe, this wasn't the best idea he'd ever had.

He held onto the bed; aware he was slipping but equally aware there was nothing he could do as the room spun around him. The door was still closed; no one knew he was awake, let alone out of bed. His hand was damp with sweat and Virgil felt his grip slide. He cried out, losing his fight against gravity…

He didn't hear the door open, or Scott swear.

But strong hands caught him, easing him up, turning him, until he was sitting on the bed again. As the mattress took his weight, the dark patches floating before his eyes faded, and his brother's concerned and exasperated expression took their place.

"What are you doing?" Scott said, his tone blunt, one eyebrow arched in disbelief. Virgil shrugged, hoping he wasn't about to pass out, throw up, or a combination of the two.

"Wanted a shower."

"You're not exactly up to that right now," Scott said. "You shouldn't even be out of bed. Come on, Virg-,"

"I don't want to be in bed!"

Virgil didn't mean to shout, and the stunned look on Scott's face caused a flash of guilt. He gripped the edge of the mattress, his entire body trembling – and he couldn't hide it from Scott.

"You're hurt. You need to rest."

It was the calm tone he was used to from his big brother, but Virgil shook his head.

"I can't." His voice cracked and he swallowed hard, trying to find the right words. "I can't be in a bed. Not like this. Not with needles and not being able to get up and…"

His breathing got more rapid, knuckles white as his grip tightened. Despite knowing he was in the hospital, being trapped in bed was too much. He wasn't sure he was making sense though, and didn't know how to say it.

"Virg?" His brother's voice was gentle, and the hand on his shoulder steady.

It took effort to meet Scott's gaze, but when Virgil did, he only saw understanding reflected back. Whether it was his own unsteady accounts, or Gordon's hints, Virgil couldn't tell. But Scott knew why he didn't want to be in bed and that was all Virgil wanted right now.

"I'm going to help you over to that chair," Scott said. Virgil almost smiled. Scott had talked many victims down from panic, guided them through impossible situations with that same soft tone. He would've been offended Scott was using it on him, if his heart rate hadn't settled at his brother's reassuring voice. He nodded, and Scott's arm slid around his shoulders, supporting him as he helped him up.

Their pace was humiliating and Virgil was rigid when Scott eased him into the chair. He leant back, eyes closing as he struggled for composure, not wanting Scott to realise how much effort it had taken. When he opened his eyes again, his brother was frowning.

"You're bleeding!"

Virgil heard the reproach in Scott's voice, and knew he was blaming himself for not noticing before.

"I'm fine." His hand hovered over the wound, not touching but hoping to conceal the blood spotting his t-shirt – despite knowing it was already too late.

Scott's eyebrow rose again.

"Either you admit it, or I call the nurse and you'll have no choice but to go back to bed."

He was bluffing: Scott would never force him after what Virgil had said. But it was foolish to hide the problem and he dropped his hand.

Scott helped him out of his shirt, and Virgil looked away, not wanting to see. Scott wasted no time fetching some fresh dressings: Virgil would have laughed if he had the energy. It didn't surprise him that his big brother had noticed where everything was stored. It made him wonder whether Scott had anticipated something like this happening, or was just being his usual paranoid self. Whichever it was, Virgil was grateful for it now.

"You haven't torn anything," Scott murmured as he applied pressure, and Virgil nodded, relieved, as he tried not to flinch. It didn't take long for the bleeding to stop and Scott changed the dressing and secured it with a fresh bandage.

When his brother held out his t-shirt though, Virgil shook his head. The entire process had exhausted him and he couldn't face moving again. He didn't protest when Scott tucked a blanket around his shoulders instead before pulling over another chair so they were facing each other without Virgil twisting.

"Where's Dad?" Virgil asked. He didn't have the clearest memory of what they had spoken about, but he recalled confessing fears he'd normally hold back and, for a wild moment, panicked it had made things awkward. They weren't a family used to dealing with emotions. Scott's smile was soft and understanding, and Virgil missed a breath.

Scott had heard something, that was clear. But how much did his brother know?

Scott only shrugged.

"Persuading Gordon to stay in bed."

Virgil understood Scott's earlier phone call: no doubt his father and older brothers wanted to be with both him and Gordon at the same time.

"He's sick, isn't he?"

"He's been better," Scott admitted, dragging a hand through his hair. "We've all been running on adrenaline for the last few days. He's crashed, and paying the price for not staying in bed when he should've."

Virgil looked away. Gordon should be at home, being fussed over by their grandmother. It was his fault that his brother was back out here. If he hadn't been fit, strong and healthy…

Everything he'd worked towards, everything he'd taken pride in, had just been thrown in his face.

"They didn't want him," Virgil mumbled. He wasn't ready to talk, but felt the need to say something. He couldn't face his brother though, talking instead to Scott's feet.

"Too many scars, you see. They couldn't guarantee quality. Me, on the other hand…" Virgil trailed off with a bitter laugh. "I was perfect."

"Virgil-,"

"We didn't stand a chance," Virgil whispered, hands clenching. "From the moment we entered the forest, they had us."

Scott didn't speak. Virgil saw him shift but still didn't look up. Scott's hand curled around the back of his neck, a grounding touch that Virgil had always taken comfort from since they were little.

But Scott didn't stop there. He moved closer until Virgil could lean against him before draping his free arm around Virgil's shoulders, hugging him in a way Virgil didn't remember them ever doing before.

It was worse than when his dad had held him. At least he had memories of that from his childhood. But this betrayed Scott's feelings more than words could, and Virgil realised how hopeless the situation had been for all of them. Scott needed the connection as much as Virgil did.

It helped. In a way Virgil couldn't explain, it helped. They were used to processing horrible situations, and Virgil believed he should be able to handle this. But it was different. Personal. He'd thought Gordon was dead, while trapped with men who wanted to kill him for profit. No one expected him to shrug this off, and Scott's touch made that clear.

Virgil's next breath was a shuddering inhale.

"I've got you," Scott whispered.

He was too exhausted to deal with his emotions. Instead, Virgil hid his face in Scott's shoulder, blocking out the room, the hospital, the world, and just gave himself time to feel. He hadn't considered that he needed time alone with Scott until he realised that he was glad – for now – that his dad was with Gordon.

After a few moments, his turmoil settled, and he felt more at peace than he had done for days.

"Scott?"

"Yeah?"

"I still want that shower."

Scott snorted and sat up, squeezing his hand before sitting back. Virgil stared at him.

"I'm serious!"

Scott just laughed, shaking his head fondly. "I'll see what I can do. But if you think I'm helping you with that…"

"Shut up," Virgil muttered, flushing. He regretted not having a pillow to throw. Scott stood, still chuckling as he clapped Virgil on the shoulder.

"Where're you going?"

"To get the other thing you want, apart from a shower."

"What's that?" Virgil didn't remember mentioning anything else and he wasn't sure what his brother was referring to. Scott stopped in the doorway, looking back.

"When did you last have a coffee?"

Virgil grinned and settled into a more comfortable position as his brother disappeared.

He never got his drink, though. He was asleep before Scott returned, and his father ended up drinking his lukewarm coffee when he arrived a little while later.

TBTBTB

Gordon coughed, then tried to swallow the next so no one noticed. He thought he'd got away with it, only for another round to burst free. The coughs tore from his chest, stealing his breath, and there was nothing he could do other than wait for them to pass before collapsing against the bed, panting.

He hated this. He hadn't considered his own experience, or his health, when he'd met Alan in the hallway and convinced his brother they should both board the plane. Finding Virgil was all that had mattered.

He'd been fine – tired, but fine – while they'd been searching. But as soon as he'd known Virgil was alive, his body had turned traitor. Every moment submerged in the freezing river was now coming back to bite him in the ass.

He thought he'd hidden it, but should have known better. He knew he was in trouble when Scott and John had bullied him into bed, and once his father arrived, he'd been screwed.

His head was pounding, throat burning and he wished his temperature would decide what it was trying to do. He didn't have the strength to argue, but Virgil was the one who needed the attention and care, not him. Gordon hoped they'd listen to him once his voice would let him speak more than two sentences before giving out.

He lay still until he was sure he could breathe without coughing, then kicked the blankets off in an attempt to cool down. Trying to figure out his next move, he whined as the covers were drawn up again.

"Sorry, kid," John said, "you're freezing."

His complaint died when John helped him sit up, before perching on the bed and handing him a mug. It didn't escape Gordon's notice that he now couldn't move the covers if he wanted to: John's position trapped them.

His fingers curled around the cup. Not paying attention, he took a sip, then almost gagged at the taste of sweet honey rather than the bitter coffee he was expecting. John chuckled.

"I asked Grandma how much," he said, "so don't moan at me if it is too sweet."

Gordon took another sip, sighing as it soothed his throat. It was hard staying awake though, and John had to steady the cup more than once.

"Where's Dad? And Al?" Gordon asked, grateful the drink had given him a voice back.

"The hospital," John reported. "Dad wanted to get back to Virg now you've agreed to get some rest."

"Lies," Gordon mumbled, "I said nothing of the sort."

"Sorry, bud, you got witnesses. You're not getting up."

Gordon took another sip, eyeing his brother. He wondered if his dad had asked John to remain behind because no one trusted him to stay in bed.

"Why aren't you with them?"

"I'm not leaving you."

John's firm tone made Gordon blink. It hadn't occurred to him John might want to stay rather than just making sure Gordon did as he was told. He gave a small shrug.

"I'm okay," he murmured. This wasn't the first time John had sat by (or, in this case, on) his sickbed. "It's just a cold."

"Potential pneumonia," John grumbled, then softened. "I'm not leaving you on your own."

Gordon nodded, then regretted it as pain made its acquaintance with his head. Which made no sense, because it was his throat that was hurting! He didn't protest as John took his empty cup before resting the back of his hand against Gordon's forehead.

"I don't get it," his brother muttered. "You're freezing and sweating at the same time."

"I'm hot, not cold," Gordon said. Then he wondered why he was shivering if he was so warm. John sighed, standing up. He disappeared for a moment before returning with a glass of water and some tablets.

"These will help."

"No," Gordon took a deep breath, looking John in the eye. "I don't want meds and sleep. I want to see Virgil."

"I know," John said, putting the drink down. "But you're sick. And Virgil is weak."

"You're keeping me away from him?"

"No, it's just…" John trailed off, running a hand through his hair. It wasn't often John was lost for words, but Gordon didn't give him the chance to figure it out.

"The last time I saw Virgil, he was trapped. They had him tied down, hooked up to God knows what. I need to see him."

"And the last time he saw you," John argued, "you were semi-conscious and being dragged out of the same building. They told him you were dead! Do you think it is going to help seeing you like this?"

"Proves I'm alive!" Raising his voice was a bad idea and another coughing fit overcame him. Once he caught his breath, he held up a hand to keep his brother back.

"I'm fine."

"You're not."

"I-,"

"You almost died!"

Gordon blinked. He must be more feverish than he thought: John never lost his cool, no matter the situation. But his brother started pacing beside the bed, his movements agitated.

"You were slumped over a rock not moving. Scott went in after you, but I had to pull you out. You were so cold, barely even breathing, and there was nothing I could do. I just put a jacket over you and ran before we were shot."

John turned away, and Gordon knew he was trying to calm down. He pushed the blankets off again, gritting his teeth against the movement. John heard him, looking around.

"What are you doing?" The exasperation was a tone Gordon was far more familiar with from his brother.

"Getting my cell."

John looked at him like he had lost his mind. But, for the first time since waking up, Gordon was thinking clearly.

"Why?"

"You need to talk to Scott."

"Why'd I need to do that?"

"Because he's your big brother."

John stared. Emotion swam in his eyes, and Gordon understood. John was used to holding it together – holding them together – because that was what he did. Even now, he'd stayed for Gordon's sake, not his own. But keeping calm because he had to was very different to being in control.

But Gordon knew the power of big brothers - he had three of them, after all. He also knew what he would do for Alan. John would deny it, but Scott was the only one who could get through to him.

There was a selfish reason, though. Gordon was used to believing nothing could touch his brother, and wanted that childish faith back. John losing it gave away how close it had been, and Gordon couldn't deal with that.

John stared for a long moment before sighing, shaking his head.

"I don't need to talk to him, Gords," he murmured. The heat had gone from his voice and Gordon believed him. John sat down, and Gordon sank against the pillows, relieved he didn't have to move any further. Even thinking about getting up had exhausted him.

"He's got enough to deal with," John continued, "and he'll only get me handcuffed to a jeep again."

"What?" Gordon sat up, eyes glinting in a way that had nothing to do with his fever. "Tell me more."

John grinned, shaking his head. "If you go to sleep, I'll tell you when you wake up."

"I'm not five!" Gordon protested, but he returned John's smile, knowing the man was going to be okay: he could see it in the way his posture had relaxed. They'd all been terrified for Virgil, but Gordon hadn't considered what it might have done to the others seeing him unconscious in the river.

The thought made him wince.

"I'm gonna have to talk to Alan, aren't I?"

"'Fraid so," John said, sounding far more cheerful. He was on the same wavelength: Gordon needed to talk to Alan for the same reason he'd tried to get John to speak to Scott.

It was not a conversation he was looking forward to.

"I'm going to sleep then," Gordon decided. If he was honest, he felt exhausted, as if he hadn't slept at all. It would also be easier to convince his little brother everything was okay when he could talk without coughing.

"Good idea."

John passed him the tablets, which Gordon swallowed without complaint. They talked about inconsequential things for a while, but as soon as his temperature regulated, Gordon fell asleep.

John rolled his eyes. He managed to shift his brother until he was lying flat, pulling the covers up again.

He stayed where he was though, just watching him rest, needing that reassurance. He knew what Gordon was like, and wanted to make sure he was actually asleep, not waiting for John to be distracted.

But the even rise and fall of Gordon's chest was enough. He was asleep.

He was also alive.

Gordon had made a good point though; John could really do with talking to his big brother. He stood up, pausing to be certain he hadn't disturbed Gordon, and crossed the room, pulling out his cell and hitting speed-dial.

"Everything okay?"

He wasn't surprised Scott didn't say hello. John sighed, leaning against the wall and crossing his ankles.

"Yeah," he said. "I just… We were in time, weren't we, Scott?"

Scott was silent for a moment.

"Yeah," he finally said. His tone revealed he'd realised what was going through John's head. "We were. They're alive. And if you're calling, both sleeping. I hope for your sake Gordon is behaving better than Virg. The idiot decided he wanted a shower."

"Ouch." Virgil wouldn't have waited for help. But John couldn't judge: they all reacted the same when sick or injured. He shot Gordon a fond look. None of them had time for it.

"Indeed," Scott said. "You holding up okay?"

"Says the guy who wanted to take on an entire army."

"True. But you came with me, rather than talking me out of it. So… are you okay?"

John had hoped to avoid that question. But watching Gordon sleep, and knowing Scott was witnessing a similar scene with Virgil, he knew the answer.

"You know what," he said, "I think I am. You?"

"No," Scott deadpanned. "You should taste the coffee in this place."

John laughed. "I'll bring you a thermoswhen I come over," he offered, before hanging up.

Slipping his cell into his pocket, he pulled around a chair and grabbed a book, intending to keep watch over Gordon the way he had promised their father.

He had meant what he said to Scott: he thought he was okay.

But until he saw Virgil and Gordon together again, until both younger brothers were recovering, he couldn't say for sure.

Something told him Scott felt the same way.