Empire of Dirt

by gaelicspirit

Set sometime mid-S3. What happens when you take a full moon, a rumored haunted house, and an internet dare, and mix them up the week before Halloween? Thomas Magnum is about to find out the answer is a whole lot of pain.

Title: Empire of Dirt
Fandom: Magnum, P.I.
Author: gaelicspirit
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Thomas Magnum, Rick Wright, Theodore "T.C." Calvin, Gordon Katsumoto, Ethan Shah, Juliet Higgins - GEN

Summary: Set sometime mid-S3. What happens when you take a full moon, a rumored haunted house, and an internet dare, and mix them up the week before Halloween? Thomas Magnum is about to find out the answer is a whole lot of pain.

Disclaimer/Warning: Nothing you recognize is mine. Including the odd movie line. I like to work in movie quotes where I can. The title is a nod to the song 'Hurt' by Nine Inch Nails. Also, the discerning SPN fans among you may also notice a nod to one of my favorite S2 episodes.

Author's Note:This story is in the same 'verse as my other Magnum fics, Witness Marks and Requiem, which in turn were influenced by IceQueen1's (or disappearinginq on tumblr) universe of Magnum fic. It's not necessary to read those to enjoy this one, though. This story continues to explore the psyche of scars—physical, mental, and emotional—as evidence of our collective journey, and a testament to our survival.

Happy belated birthday, IceQueen1, and thanks for the continued encouragement.

I hope you all enjoy.

---

"A ghost can be a lot of things. A memory, a daydream, a secret. Grief, anger, guilt. But, in my experience, most times they're just what we want to see."

Steven Crain, The Haunting of Hill House (Netflix)

A warm zephyr blew in through the propped-open doors of La Mariana bringing with it the salt-washed smell of the ocean.

Rick glanced up from where he was stringing orange- and purple-colored lights along the edge of the bar, catching sight of TC hanging up a skeleton clothed in ragged sheets in a ceiling alcove, the wind billowing the sheets like sails. He could hear Ethan offering careful advice to Thomas where the slighter man was wedged behind the new jukebox Rick was installing for the tiki bar's inaugural 'Moonster Bash.'

He thought the play on the popular Halloween song was clever-plus, as Kumu had pointed out, it's not every year a full moon lands on Halloween, and with the kind of luck they'd had of late, Rick was ready for a change in more than just the seasons.

Autumn in Hawaii was nothing like Chicago. In fact, it had been a long time since Rick had felt that tell-tale change in the air that indicated it was time to drag the sweaters and winter coats out from the plastic bins where they'd been stored for the summer months.

Not since well before the Korengal.

He sometimes missed that sharp bite of wind instantly suggesting images of colorful, falling leaves, spiced cider, and crackling fires. Then again, being able to surf on Christmas Day wasn't all that bad, either.

"Dammit!" TC cursed, drawing Rick's attention back to where the big man was holding a skeleton by the throat, trying to secure one of the wayward arms.

Before he could step forward to help, Thomas was moving, abandoning both Ethan and the jukebox to shimmy quickly up the other side of the ladder and grab the torso of the skeleton, steadying it for TC.

"Thanks, man," TC grunted, grabbing the errant arm, and twisting the wire tight.

Rick glanced over to where Ethan stood staring at the jukebox like an inquisitive dog, head tilted just so, as though all the secrets of the universe would be revealed if he could just figure out what questions to ask. Shaking his head in amusement, Rick turned back to hanging the lights beneath the bar, letting the salty air from the opened door wash over him and fill the room.

"You got it?" Thomas was asking, his voice strained by his position.

"Yeah, I got it," TC replied and after a few moments, Rick heard two pairs of feet hit the wood floor. "'preciate the help, T.M."

"Place is looking good!" Thomas exclaimed, and Rick glanced once more over his shoulder to see his friend standing in the center of the bar, hands on hips, dark eyes traveling over the décor. "This'll bring 'em in droves, man."

Rick huffed. "Sure hope so," he commented, fixing the last of the lights and moving around behind the bar. "We're still pretty behind on the repairs from that hurricane."

TC joined Thomas, clapping his friend on the shoulder, and steering him toward the bar. In a practically choreographed motion, they each swung a leg over a bar stool and rapped their knuckles on the top of the bar. Rick raised an eyebrow.

"You two practice that?"

Thomas just grinned at him; TC looked over his shoulder and called out to Ethan.

"Yo! Doc, you joining us, or what?"

Ethan waved a hand at him, eyes still on the jukebox. "I'm determined to figure this out," he replied.

TC shrugged as he turned back to Rick, tipping his chin toward the tap of his favorite beer. "Y'know, the doc ain't half bad."

"You're just saying that because he's fixing the jukebox," Thomas good-naturedly teased.

Rick handed both men their favorite beers, then pulled one for himself, leaning against the bar near TC. "Seems to be making Higgins pretty happy," Rick observed, watching carefully for any reaction from Thomas other than agreement.

The other man simply nodded, as a half-smile tugged up the corner of his mouth. "She's not been as tense…," he tipped his dark head toward Rick in a nod of agreement.

TC chuckled. "Sure had a few choice words about a…what did she call this party?"

"I believe it was something along the lines of…a childish endeavor and genuine waste of time," Rick squinted, the side of his mouth tipping up in a small grin.

"We'll see if she's still saying that when you hand out the full-sized candy bars on Halloween," Thomas lifted an eyebrow and sipped from his pint.

TC rotated so his back was to the bar. "Probably thinks the theme should be more…Hawaiian in nature," he mused. "Something along the lines of, say, the legend of Ka'ena Point."

"Or the Man-Eating Spirits of Ni'ihau," Thomas chimed in.

Rick shook his head. "Maybe," he allowed his gaze drifting to the opened doors and the blue sky beyond. "I considered doing something in line with the Night Marchers, but…I didn't want it to come across as insensitive or…disrespectful, y'know?" He looked back at Thomas and TC. "Mummies and skeletons and witches with warts and pointy hats are your basic Halloween staple. And while there's always a chance to offend someone," he lifted a shoulder, noting the nods in agreement from his friends, "I just thought it was better to not chance it. Especially as a haole."

"True," Thomas nodded. "We've had plenty of experience wading into a culture not our own."

Rick saw a shadow cross his friend's expression. Though their time as prisoners in the Korengal Valley grew further and further away with each passing day, there were moments that even a stray comment could bring it back, front and center.

"And wading back out again isn't easy," TC agreed.

"Don't worry about Higgy," Thomas leaned his elbows on the bar and looked up at Rick, somehow managing to look aged and childlike at once. "You aren't obligated to cater to everyone's opinions."

Rick grinned, clinking his pint glass against Thomas'.

"'sides," TC mused with a side-eyed glance at Thomas. "Not like you believe in any of that stuff anyway."

Thomas' eyebrows drew down in a frown even as he smirked. "What stuff?"

"Ghosts," TC elaborated. "Spirits, the supernatural."

Thomas rolled his eyes and Rick couldn't suppress his grin. It was an old conversation with them, starting with Nuzo's brother's superstitions and ending abruptly in Germany when they'd all been recovering and had a new appreciation for the fragility of life. Of the four of them, Thomas had been the only one adamant about his skepticism.

"Not this again," Thomas shook his head, hooking his heels on the barstool rail. "I told you, ghosts are just ancient disciplinary tools to encourage people to make better choices in life."

"Right," Rick intoned. "You are like…the anti-Mulder. You don't want to believe."

Thomas huffed a soft laugh. "There's nothing to believe, man," he shook his head. "There's what we see, there's us," he tapped the back of his hand against TC's shoulder, gestured toward Rick, and rested his fingers against his own chest, "and that's it. No…mystical energy fields, no ethereal afterlife, no…beyond the grave."

"Just a lot of simple tricks and nonsense, huh?" Rick teased.

TC laughed. "He ain't anti-Mulder, man," he grinned, "he's Han Solo."

Thomas grinned, his eyes sparkling with that comparison.

"Oh, now you've done it," Rick gestured to his friend with his half-empty pint. "First the White Knight, now the coolest smuggler in the galaxy? This guy's head's gonna be so big, he'll tip over."

Just then, the unmistakable sounds of Bob Seger's Night Moves burst through the semi-quiet of the tiki bar, startling all three of them. Ethan whooped, tossing his hands in the air in celebration, grinning over at them.

"Nice, man!" Rick applauded.

Thomas waved him over with a grin. "I'll admit, I didn't think it could be done," he said, clapping Ethan on the back when he sat on the stool next to him.

Rick slid Ethan a beer. "And way to bring in the classics," he smiled.

"Out past the cornfields where the woods got heavy," TC sang along with Seger, "out in the back seat of my '60 Chevy, workin' on mysteries without any clues…."

"Workin' on our night moves," the other three joined in, clinking their pints together.

"Am I missing karaoke?" came a voice from the opened doorway.

"Hey, Gordy!" Thomas greeted, a smile plain in his voice. "C'mon in, have a beer!"

Detective Gordon Katsumoto moved toward the bar, standing between Thomas and TC. He waved away the offer of a beer, looking over at Thomas.

"Magnum, you working on a case?"

Thomas frowned, puzzled. "Not at the moment, no."

Katsumoto sighed, crossing his arms over his chest, his face folding into his typical frown. "I'd like to hire you."

Rick felt his eyebrows bounce to his hairline and Thomas' beer hit the bar top with a solid thunk. TC shot Rick a look as Thomas turned on his stool to fully face the Detective.

"What's going on?" Thomas asked, all humor stripped from his voice.

Katsumoto clenched his jaw, his dark eyes skimming across the four men now facing him with their full attention. In the background, Bob Seger gave way to Tom Petty proclaiming he Won't Back Down. Katsumoto sighed, evidently making peace with his misgivings.

"You hear about that Internet dare that's getting kids to do crazy stuff, like…break into houses or jump off cliffs?"

Rick stared back at Katsumoto, clueless. The other three men didn't move. Clearly, they weren't current on their Gen Z dares.

"I'll take that as a no," Katsumoto smirked. "We've been getting calls for the past two weeks of vandalism in empty vacation homes, kids trespassing into areas washed out by the hurricane and cliff jumping—"

"Jesus," Rick muttered, frowning. "Anyone get hurt?"

Katsumoto shook his head. "Luckily nothing more than a couple of broken legs, so far."

"Not sure I'm seeing a case here yet, Gordy," Thomas said quietly. Rick glanced at his friend, noting the frown of concentration pulling his brows low.

"It's Dennis," Katsumoto sighed. He licked his lips, glancing away from the others before pulling in a slow breath and looking back at Thomas. "I'm pretty sure he's gotten himself involved in this."

Rick felt a pit in his stomach. Katsumoto's teenaged son had started to become a familiar face to them of late as he navigated the waters of his parent's broken relationship.

"What exactly is this?" Thomas pressed, his voice level, inquisitive, and lacking the immediate sympathy Rick felt kick up in his system.

Keeping his face carefully neutral, Rick glanced between Thomas and Katsumoto, sensing an undercurrent of communication that he couldn't quite translate. Thomas had always been good at that: speaking directly to someone in a way only they would understand. It made him an excellent operative and leader…and friend.

Katsumoto pressed his lips together, his gaze traveling to the floor. He uncrossed his arms and rested his hands on his hips. Rick noted that none of the rest of them moved; the jukebox played on, and Rick felt something slide up his spine, like the quiet hush before a mission.

"We've been tracking a couple of guys," Katsumoto began, "took out a financial advisor in a possible home invasion last week. DEA suspects meth dealers, based on paraphernalia found at the victim's home."

"Yeah, I read about that," Ethan suddenly spoke up. "He was the son of some influential…commissioner?"

Katsumoto nodded. "Captain is pushing for a quick solve because of the negative press."

"But you don't think it's that simple," Thomas concluded.

Katsumoto's eyebrows went up and he rotated slightly so he was directly facing Thomas. "I think there's a connection between these internet dares, the meth case, and the commissioner's son."

Thomas tilted his head, his shoulders squaring. Rick recognized that posture. The man was already planning three steps out from this conversation.

"You have a lead," Thomas stated.

Katsumoto nodded. "There's an old house out on Aloala Boulevard, been in probate for over a decade. It's like…Honolulu's version of the Winchester Mystery House in California."

Rick pulled his head back in recognition. "Yeah, I know that place," he nodded, pointing at Katsumoto with his pint of beer. "It's spooky, man."

"I heard it was haunted," TC nodded.

Thomas rolled his eyes. "You and your ghosts," he muttered.

"Hey, dude," TC held up a hand. "Best not to question what you can't prove isn't true."

Rick folded his lips down. "Right…I think."

"Anyway," Katsumoto continued. "I have reason to believe the next internet dare has to do with that house...and I'm almost certain the guys behind both the meth ring and the commissioner's son's murder are using these dares as their smoke screen."

"And you think Dennis got himself tangled up in these internet dares, so you need me to find him and get him clear before you move in on this hunch," Thomas concluded.

Katsumoto exhaled slowly. "I can't let my team know; he'll be roped up with the rest of the arrests…and something like this…."

"Could live with a kid the rest of his life," Rick nodded.

"Reminds me of that kid, Joe…something," TC murmured.

"Cooper," Thomas and Rick replied in unison, matching TC's tone.

"Who's Joe Cooper?" Ethan spoke up, reminding Rick of his presence.

Rick blinked and took a breath, looking up from where he'd been staring a hole through the top of the bar. The sounds of Billy Joel's Goodnight, Saigon slipped through the quiet, settling a strangely familiar chill in his bones.

"He was this kid we served with in Afghanistan, right after the four of us met up," Rick said, forgetting for a moment Ethan had never met Nuzo. "Just this young guy from Texas. Got caught up in some drug trouble. Judge gave him a choice between joining up or serving time."

Rick caught Ethan shifting to lean his weight against the bar. "What happened to him?"

Thomas cleared his throat. "Got blown up by an IED six months into his tour," he said, his tone so matter of fact it caught Rick's attention. As though physically moving away from the topic, Thomas pushed off the stool, setting his beer on the bar. "I'll take the case," he said, looking Katsumoto in the eye. "I'll start with the house and go from there. Send me all you've got on these internet dares."

Before Katsumoto could reply, Thomas turned and headed out of the bar through the propped open doors, his hands held purposefully loose at his sides, head down. Rick watched him go, the haunting anguish of Billy Joel's vocals tripping through his memories.

"…and they were sharp, as sharp as knives. They heard the hum of our motors; they counted the rotors and waited for us to arrive. And we would all go down together. We said we'd all go down together…."

"He'll get Dennis out of this, Gordon," Rick reassured him.

"I know he will," Gordon said softly. He looked back at Rick. "Tell Magnum I'll check in soon."

Rick nodded, collecting the pints, and dumping the left-over beer into the metal sink. Leaving the dirty glasses in the sink, he switched off the lights behind the bar, seeing TC move to close and lock the front doors.

"Want to get the jukebox, there, Doc?" Rick called out to Ethan.

Ethan frowned. "What's…what'd I miss?"

"We're going to find Dennis," TC replied, giving the other man a look of confusion.

Ethan's head twitched. "But…I thought Thomas was taking the case."

Rick shrugged. "He is. And we're going to help him."

"Why do I get the feeling this is typical of you guys?" Ethan blinked.

We said we'd all go down together…. You bleed, I bleed.

Rick just grinned at him. "You in or out, Doc?"

Ethan stepped away from the bar and headed to the jukebox. "Investigating a haunted house, the week of Halloween?" he said, pulling the power cord from the wall. "I'm in."

They caught up with Thomas in the parking lot, the other man having apparently guessed they'd be joining him. He held up his phone.

"Got the address," he said. "You ready?"

"Hell, yeah," TC clapped his hands together. "Let's go bust some ghosts!"

Thomas shook his head, pulling the driver's door of the Ferrari to him. "One day I'm going to prove to you ghosts aren't real, man."

"Uh huh," Rick chuckled, climbing behind the wheel of his Porsche. "And I'm the Stay-Puft Marshmallow man."

---

They parked the two distinctive cars a block away from the Aloala Boulevard house. Typically, Thomas didn't think about how easy it was to recognize the red Ferrari, but there was something about the fact that Katsumoto's son was at risk that gave him pause. They made their way toward the abandoned house, conversation between them a diluted murmur.

He knew Rick and TC would back whatever he decided his play should be; Ethan was more of a wild card. Ever since they'd saved his life during the hurricane, the surgeon had lessened his reserved scrutiny of Thomas' friendship—partnership—with Higgins and seemed to be looking at him as more of an ally than a rival. Still, Thomas didn't know the man well enough to be confident in his discipline during a high-stress situation.

Not enough to trust him with the lives of his friends.

"'K, if anyone is here, they're keeping it quiet," Thomas observed as they paused at the bus stop diagonal from the large house.

Almost all windows on the three floors were boarded up, some showing damage from the recent hurricane. A wide, moss-stained porch stretched across the front and weeds choked the yard. At some point in the last decade, a chain linked fence had been erected and 'No Trespassing' signs put up, but in the stretch of years since vandals had their way with both.

"Place is spooky, man," TC muttered, shivering.

Rick shifted his weight to one leg, settling his hands on his hips. "It's like Stephen King and the clown from It had a birthday party here."

"You realize Stephen King wrote It," Ethan commented, not looking at Rick.

Thomas suppressed a grin.

"'Course," Rick hedged, clearing his throat. "So, uh, how do you want to do this, Thomas?"

"Split up, you two take the front, Ethan and I'll take the back," Thomas replied immediately. He glanced over at the other three, noting Ethan's eyebrows bouncing high while Rick and TC nodded sagely. "Focus is finding out if Dennis is or has been here and getting him out, if necessary."

"What about the meth dealers?" Ethan asked.

Thomas shook his head. "That's on Gordy. We get Dennis out of it; he takes down the bad guys."

Rick and TC nodded again, but Ethan frowned.

"But what if you find—"

"Look," Thomas pivoted, one hand extended toward Ethan. "Sometimes, yeah, we get the drop on the bad guys. But…it took me a while to learn we gotta trust Katsumoto. Let him do his job." He turned back to the house. "I broke that trust once; I won't do it again."

"We got your back, T.M.," TC assured him.

"Magnum, hey, I just meant," Ethan shook his head. "It's not what Juliet described, is all."

Rick chuffed. "Yeah, I'll bet."

Thomas shot his friend a look but chose to let the subject drop. "Phones on vibrate," he ordered, unconsciously shifting into the posture of their Lieutenant. "If anyone is in there—outside of Dennis—I'd rather us not alert them to our presence."

"Good call," Rick nodded, pulling out his phone as the others did the same.

Thomas checked his weapon, registered a full magazine, then tucked it into the waistband of his shorts at the small of his back, flipping the tail of his red Hawaiian shirt over the grip to hide it from sight. He noted Rick and TC doing the same.

"Anyone concerned that I don't have a gun?" Ethan's forced casual tone caught Thomas' attention.

"Not really," he replied honestly.

Ethan pressed his lips tight. "Okay then."

Rick took an audible breath. "So, who wants to go through the creepy yard into the haunted house first?"

Thomas shook his head with a soft laugh. "C'mon, Doc." He jerked his chin toward the fence and started across the quiet road, trusting Ethan to follow him.

They moved around the back of the house, Thomas checking over his shoulder to make sure TC and Rick had made it to the front door, then went around the side of the house, the disrepair becoming more and more evident the further they got from the front road. Spying a back entrance—screen door hanging loose on rusted hinges—Thomas hooked his fingers on the chain linked fence and scrambled to the top, flipping himself over the top and landing in a crouch.

"Okay, so…this is a thing we're doing," Ethan muttered.

Thomas straightened up. "You good?"

Ethan nodded rapidly. "Sure, yeah, no worries…just haven't…y'know…."

"Climbed a fence in a while?" Thomas guessed.

"Magnum, this isn't a fence. It's a barrier."

Thomas turned toward him. "Look," he said, his voice pitched low. "You don't have to—"

"Aw, no," Ethan shook his head. "You're not doing that."

Thomas frowned, puzzled. "Doing what?"

Ethan gripped the fence and started to pull himself up. "Giving me that whole, this isn't your problem," he grunted, pulling himself slowly over the top of the fence.

Thomas scooted back as Ethan dropped on the other side, pulling his hands to his chest with a wince.

"This isn't exactly your problem either, and here you are."

Thomas tilted his head. "I'm here for a friend," he argued.

Ethan shrugged. "So am I."

Thomas opened his mouth to question that statement, but then felt his phone buzz in his pocket. He pulled it out, seeing a text from Rick.

WTH R U?

"They're in," he reported. He texted Rick that they were going to start on the second floor, then pocketed his phone. "Let's get going."

He tested the door, finding the handle loose and the door unlatched. They silently eased inside, Thomas skimming the room with his eyes, finding the corners, looking for threats beyond those of human nature. Light filtered through cracks in the wood over the windows, dust motes dancing in the thin beams, graying shadows tossed through the murky dark of the empty, cavernous space.

As they made their way down the hall, Thomas felt Ethan jerk back, a hand almost reflexively grabbing for his arm. He paused, looking back over his shoulder to check on the doctor and saw Ethan close his eyes as if in relief. It took Thomas a moment to realize the man had caught his reflection in a floor-to-ceiling mirror on the back of one of the doors. Thomas lifted an eyebrow, Ethan released Thomas' arm, and they moved forward.

From what little he could see, there was a dust-covered chandelier hanging crookedly from the center of the large room spread out before them. Off to one side, down what appeared to be a hallway of some kind, he could smell the dank odor of mildew, which in a tropical climate like Hawaii wasn't all that surprising.

They'd entered through what appeared to be a mudroom, doors flanking them—presumably to a bathroom or closet—a winding staircase tucked off to the side. Thomas could hear the creaking of floorboards as Rick and TC moved through the front of the house. Tugging on Ethan's sleeve, he motioned to the staircase, then led the way to the darkened passageway.

He could hear Ethan's breath beat rhythmically against the quiet, as he followed close behind. Thomas appreciated the man's care to tread lightly, step when he stepped. For someone who seemed gun-shy about breaking and entering, Ethan moved stealthily.

And besides…the door was open. So really, they were only entering.

The hum of voices met Thomas' ears as they reached the top of the stairs, and he shoved an opened hand behind him to halt Ethan's movement. Breathing shallowly, he listened. It sounded like two men, maybe three. He couldn't tell what they were talking about, but he could hear the agitation in their tones.

Pulling out his phone, he texted Rick, tilting the screen so Ethan could see.

Three tangos sec floor.

He met Ethan's eyes and saw the man was steady, waiting for instructions. Rick's reply was almost immediate.

Dennis?

TBD, Thomas typed back.

No hero shit.

Thomas rolled his eyes with a tolerant smile, glancing over at Ethan. The smile slid from his face when he saw the other man's raised eyebrow, clearly agreeing with Rick.

Sighing, Thomas pocketed his phone once more, then pulled his weapon free and breached the top of the stairs. Moving cautiously down the dark hallway toward the voices, he felt the floor sag slightly beneath his foot just as the odor of mildew and rot reached him. The floor had clearly been damaged by the recent storm—enough to have weakened the structure.

He pressed his back to the wall, reaching out blindly to grab the front of Ethan's shirt and tugged the man back level with him. As they drew closer to the room where the voices were coming from, Thomas could distinctly pick out three males, his heart dropping when he recognized a fourth voice: Dennis.

"…told you the last time was the last time," Dennis was saying, his voice young and scared, but determined. Thomas heard traces of Gordon in those few words; he felt a surge of pride shimmy up his spine.

"Look, kid," said a slightly accented voice. Thomas narrowed his eyes, listening. "We told you before. The only way you're keeping your old man safe is if you work with us."

"Yeah, and as I recall," chimed in another, "you wanted a piece of this action."

"I wanted to win a freaking dare," Dennis protested, his voice cracking. "Not become some…some drug dealer."

"Well, don't worry," concluded the third voice Thomas had heard. "You're still not a drug dealer. You're a mule."

Thomas glanced over at Ethan, barely able to make out the other man's features in the darkness of the hallway. He felt his phone vibrate silently in his pocket, but didn't pull it out yet, afraid the light would alert the men in the room.

"I don't care, man," Dennis stated. "I'm done. I'm leaving."

Thomas heard a shuffle of feet and gripped his weapon with two hands.

"Oh, so you want us to go after your friends, then?"

The shuffling stopped.

"My…my friends?"

"All them kids gonna show up here to answer the TikTok siren call," taunted the accented man, "and we'll be waiting for 'em. Whicha think it'll be, huh, Denny? Trick? Or Treat?"

"Fuck you, man."

"Oh, fuck me? Fuck me?"

Thomas heard Dennis whimper and tensed. He wanted to look at his phone, to see where Rick and TC were, but he couldn't pull his attention from the room.

"Lemme go…."

"You take this bag where we told you, and I'll let you go," the accented man promised. "You don't, and we go after your cop dad and all your little friends. And it'll be all…your…fault…."

Thomas pulled in a slow breath, pointing the barrel of his weapon at the door. He didn't want Ethan following him in, but the man didn't know the same hand signals he could have given Rick or TC to alert them to his thinking. He pressed one hand on the flat of Ethan's chest, trying to give him the sign to stay where he was.

Before he could make a move, however, Dennis Katsumoto exploded from the room in a tangle of panicked arms, legs, and gasping breath. He didn't see Thomas and Ethan; he instead made an immediate right away from the damaged part of the floor, and in an impressive sprint, made a beeline for the end of the hallway.

A forty-something man swung through the door into the hallway, one hand on the doorframe, the other gripping a Sig-Sauer. Thomas moved on pure instinct. He threw his body against the man's shoulder and arm, knocking his aim sideways as the man squeezed off a shot. Thomas followed this surprise attack with two sharp punches to the man's ear, following him forward as he stumbled, shocked and shaken, back into the room….

…where his two friends stood waiting with weapons at the ready.

"Shit," Thomas breathed, looking up with wide eyes.

In the split second it took the two men to sight in on Thomas, Ethan grabbed him by the waistband of his shorts and tugged him back and away from the door, flinging him against the far wall and pulling the door shut. Bullets splintered the doorway, but Thomas and Ethan were already moving down the hallway in the same direction Dennis had run.

"Tell me Rick and TC heard that," Ethan gasped as they reached the bottom of a set of stairs leading up.

"I think half of Oahu heard that," Thomas replied, winded, his shoulder throbbing from where it hit the wall.

"Dennis go up?" Ethan asked as they heard the door crash open, rebounding against the wall.

Thomas didn't waste breath answering, just headed up another dark stairway, two at a time. The third floor wasn't as dark as the second, and he quickly saw it was because not all the windows had been covered with plywood, and several were broken, letting the rain and elements into the structure. A stream of water stained the wall and part of the floor, gathering in a decent-sized pool of water on a darkened, sagging section of floor.

"Dennis!" Thomas called, slipping and staggering on the damp wood floor, eyes skimming the dark corners for the missing teen. "It's Thomas Magnum!"

Emerging like a trembling wraith from the alcove near an opened window, Dennis stepped forward hesitantly. Thomas put his gun away, holding out a hand.

"You remember me?"

Dennis nodded. "You're a friend of my dad's," he replied.

"Yeah, that's right," Thomas smiled. "Listen, we need to get you out of here. Those guys are going to be up here any second."

"I went the wrong way," Dennis sniffed. "There's only one way out."

"Not necessarily," Ethan chimed in. "How are you with heights?" He tipped his head toward one of the windows not boarded up.

Thomas hurried over and peered out. There was a metal fire escape leading down to the front of the house. Thinking quickly, he pulled out his phone and thrust it into Dennis' hands.

"You remember my friends, Rick and TC?"

Dennis nodded, eyes wide and scared.

"This is what you're going to do," Thomas said, yanking on the swollen wood to pull the window up. "Take my phone, climb down and head out to the road. Call Rick, tell him where we are, where you are, and then call your dad. You got that?"

"Kid!" A voice shouted from the bottom of the stairs. "You and your pals got nowhere to go!"

Thomas pulled out his gun, taking aim at the top of the stairs.

"Ethan, give him a hand."

"On it," Ethan promised.

"What about you guys?" Dennis protested, but Thomas could hear him working his way out the window and to the metal fire escape.

"As long as you get your dad, we'll be okay," Ethan replied, surprising Thomas.

No more than two seconds after Ethan pushed down the window behind Dennis, the first of the three men stuck his head through the opening at the top of the stairs. Thomas fired, intentionally hitting the wall just above his head, and the man ducked down.

"I don't know who you are, man, but you picked the wrong day to go house hunting," the man shouted.

"He clear?" Thomas muttered over his shoulder to Ethan.

"He's clear."

"You have your phone?"

"Yeah."

"Ping our location to Gordon."

"I don't have—"

Two bullets ricocheted over their heads and Thomas and Ethan scrambled to the side, out of range.

"We should go out the same way Dennis did," Ethan spat.

Thomas pushed Ethan to the back of him, tucking both behind a slanted attic beam. He darted a look around the beam.

"We do that, we lead these guys right to Dennis."

"There's three of us, man," the accented voice called up. "How long you think you can last up there?"

"Long as it takes," Thomas shouted back, picturing Rick and TC flanking these guys as they spoke.

He reached back and grabbed Ethan's shirt once more, pulling the other man with him as they crossed from one side of the room to the other, heading for a door Thomas had spied through the gloom. He had no idea if it led to a way out, a closet, or Narnia, but it was better than standing out in the open, waiting to get shot. He saw an arm snake out through the opening at the top of the stairs, bullets strafing across the open room, and he fired back.

In that moment, however, another one of the men ducked out, joining his pal in the firing frenzy, and Thomas realized he wasn't going to be able to distract both. It would absolutely kill Higgins if Ethan were shot simply because he decided to follow Thomas on one of his missions, no matter who he was trying to help.

Reacting with only that thought, Thomas turned, putting his back to the gunmen, and grabbed Ethan's shoulders, pushing the man back. He didn't register the floor shifting under Ethan's feet. It wasn't until he felt the floor sag under his own feet, then heard it splinter, that he realized he'd inadvertently pushed them across the damaged wood. By the time he'd registered the danger, he'd already fallen through, his grip on Ethan pulling the man with him.

Their combined weight propelled them through the sagging second floor, the mildewy ground floor, and landed them in the dark of the basement, three levels below.

---

"I got nothing," TC whispered as Rick joined him in the dark kitchen. "And this place is like a friggin'…maze."

Rick shook his head. "There's no one here," he sighed. "Texted Thomas for a sitrep, but he's not respond—"

The unmistakable bang of gunfire made both men duck, hands going immediately to their weapons.

"Came from upstairs," TC declared.

"Yeah," Rick nodded, and led the way from the kitchen, across the creepy, open entryway, and toward the dank-smelling hallway leading to the main stairs. "Do you think—"

Before he was able to finish his question, his foot broke through the wood of the dark, damaged hallway. He was only saved from going through the floor to the basement by TC's quick hand, grabbing him by the bicep and hauling him back.

"Son of a bitch," Rick muttered, shaking off imagined cobwebs and the clawing fingers of the dead he easily pictured reaching for him through the broken floor. "Thanks, man."

"Maybe we don't go that way," TC suggested.

Rick nodded. He was on board with that. "Got another idea?"

"Thomas and Ethan must've found some back stairs," TC shrugged.

Rick tilted his head. "Good point," he said, and turned the flashlight on his phone on to find their way to the back stairs Thomas and Ethan had taken. As they stepped from the hall, however, more gunfire caused them to flinch and reflexively looked up.

"Only Thomas could find someone to shoot at him in a damn haunted house," Rick muttered. His ankle stung; he didn't take time to check, but he was pretty sure he'd scraped it up when he'd put his foot through the floor. "Any idea which way this other staircase is?"

"Let's start with finding the back door," TC suggested.

Rick felt as if the darkness cloaking the interior of the house was actually growing around them. He shone his flashlight first one way, then another, moving gingerly on his sore ankle, making his way through the gloom with TC at his heels, seeing the kitchen where they'd come from, a den, a bathroom, what looked like it could be a study or library, but no stairs, and no back door. He opened his mouth to say as much to TC when his phone buzzed, making him jump. Which made TC jump.

"What? What is it?" TC asked in a fervent whisper.

"My freaking phone," Rick breathed out, turning off the flashlight and pulling up the screen. "It's Thomas," he started to report, then frowned. "Hang on, no." He looked up at TC. "It's Dennis."

"Dennis?" TC drew his head back. "What's he doing with Thomas' phone?"

"I don't know, man," Rick shook his head and called Thomas' number. "Dennis?"

"H-hi," the teen replied.

"Where are you, kiddo?" Rick frowned up at TC once more, instinctively moving toward the front door.

"I'm outside," Dennis replied. "Mr. Magnum gave me his phone and told me to get out and get you and call my dad."

Rick opened the door and stepped outside; the late afternoon almost too bright after the darkness of the house's interior. He scanned the weed-choked yard until he spied Dennis' slim form just inside the opening of the chain linked fence.

"I see you," Rick said. "Don't move, we'll be right there." Rick hung up and jogged over to where Dennis stood, trembling, and staring up at the house. "Hey," Rick said when he and TC joined the teen, resting a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "You good?"

"I'm okay," Dennis nodded shakily. "There're three of them, though, and I don't know how Mr. Magnum is going to get down."

Gunfire erupted once more, sounding muted from the outside of the house. Everything within Rick wanted to barge back inside the house and back up his friend, but he didn't know where he was, and he had a scared kid to look out for—the whole reason Thomas was in that house in the first place.

"You call your dad?" TC asked.

Dennis nodded. "Well, texted him. Told him it was me, and where we were, and that Mr. Magnum was in trouble."

Rick nodded. "Good, that's goo—"

A loud crash suddenly echoed through the sepia-toned afternoon. It sounded like the roof was caving in. Rick turned, shoving Dennis behind his back, and stared at the house uncomprehendingly, until the noise stopped…and it was silent.

"Thomas…," he whispered, staring to move forward.

"Hold up, man," TC placed a big hand on Rick's chest, stopping him. "We can't go in there, guns blazing, like this is one of Robin's novels," he pointed out.

"But…Thomas is in there," Rick protested.

TC nodded. "And we're getting him out—soon as we know what we're up against…and got us some back-up." TC jerked his head in Dennis' direction.

The strangled sound Rick tried to stifle wasn't quite a laugh. He took a single, slow breath, then let it out, turning his attention to Dennis.

"Can you tell us about who's in there?" he asked.

"Sure, but, uh," Dennis was looking toward the ground, "did you know your leg is bleeding?"

---

Ethan came aware in stages, feeling as if his brain was attempting a reboot. The immediate, visceral instinct to take a deep breath was counteracted with a cloud of dust cloaking him. He coughed, then regretted that choice when his ribs and head flared with pain. Forcing himself to lie still, he breathed shallowly as he blinked to clear his wavering vision.

Dust and small bits of debris floated through the muted light filtering down from above where he lay. The silhouette of a head momentarily blocked the meager light and Ethan opened his mouth to call out before his memory suddenly, viciously caught up with him and he bit his bottom lip to keep all sound in.

"Dude, they're toast."

They…. Ethan blinked rapidly, eyes on the moving shadows far above him.

"Better make sure."

"You wanna go down to that scary-assed basement? 'Cause I sure as hell don't."

"We got product to move, man." Something inside Ethan jumped at that voice. He knew that accent. "If they ain't dead from the fall, they will be soon enough. Nobody comes by here."

He'd known the voice before, too, but hadn't been sure until he saw the man…and by then, it was too late to say anything to Magnum—

"Oh, shit, Magnum," Ethan gasped quietly, pushing slowly up, and rolling to his right elbow.

It was pitch dark around him; the only light came through the ragged hole they'd fallen through, and that was barely enough for him to visually check himself for injuries. The doctor in him mentally began to assess his status—head: ached, neck: intact, back: sore, but ambulatory, legs: fine, arms: shaky, but mobile, torso: sore, but intact—even as he shifted around, trying to pierce the darkness with his limited vision to find his friend.

It was a bit amazing to him that he'd survived a three-story fall through structure with nothing more than an aching head and impact soreness…until he turned fully and realized his luck was due to landing on his companion. Magnum's last-minute shift, placing his body between Ethan and the bullets intent on ending them, had also placed him as the human projectile who broke through the water-damaged, weakened, but still dangerous wood and land first on what appeared to be a very damp, concrete flooring.

Ethan felt his entire body instinctively flinch when he finally caught sight of Magnum lying next to him. For an instant, everything stopped. Ethan Shah, a highly trained physician, capable of split-second, emergency medical decisions, froze in place.

Magnum lay on his back, right arm flung out from his side as if caught in the act of reaching for help, the other draped over his chest. His head was rolled toward Ethan, the visible part shadowed with the stain of blood. Ethan couldn't see his legs yet, but that wasn't what arrested his attention.

A piece of flooring, roughly the circumference of Ethan's thumb, pierced Magnum's lower right side, and another pinned his right bicep to the ground.

Ethan swallowed, took a slow, shaky breath, then pulled himself to his knees. He looked up through the hole, checking for the shadows of the men intent on ending them and saw it was devoid of silhouettes.

"Magnum?" he whispered, watching the other man's face intently for any flicker of awareness. "Thomas," he tried, "can you hear me?"

Magnum didn't respond. At the sound of a creaking floor, Ethan looked up again. He could hear the men moving from the third to second floor, and imagined they were moving back to the room where he and Magnum had found Dennis. He looked back down at the man currently bleeding on the floor. He felt detached, suspended, as though he were floating above Magnum, not sitting next to him.

"Concussed, Shah," he quietly admonished himself. The sound of his own voice steadied him. "You're concussed, so focus." He raised up on his knees and reached for Magnum's throat. "Patient is unconscious, breath sounds…strained, but regular, pulse rapid…," he blinked again, shaking his head as he felt the floating sensation again.

Shifting his balance once more, he ran his hands slowly down Magnum's body, starting with his head.

"Clear head injury," he murmured softly, "no palpable damage…amazingly…neck feels intact, shoulders…puncture to right bicep…left arm feels intact…got several cracked—oof, no, broken—ribs on the right side…spine appears intact, but…hard to say…need to keep patient immobile…," he gentled his touch as he reached the puncture wound, "this is going to be a problem…can feel blood saturating patient's clothing, pooling on ground, need to find a way to get that stopped…," he continued down Magnum's hips and legs, relieved to not feel any obvious broken bones.

Miraculously, neither of them had been trapped by any of the flooring debris—other than Magnum being skewered in a few places. If he could stabilize Magnum and get him to wake, he might be able to get them out of there.

Patting his pockets down he found his cell phone. No bars, but he could use the flashlight. Under the blue-white glare of the flashlight, Magnum looked even worse. They hadn't been there long, but the blood loss was already more than Ethan was comfortable with, mostly from the wound in his arm, leading Ethan to believe the projectile had at least nicked an artery.

Shining the light around their environment, Ethan saw they were in an unfinished basement, relatively empty, with a section blocked off with a large, plastic sheet.

He glanced down at Magnum. "I'll be right back."

Pushing to his feet, Ethan wavered for a moment before catching his balance, then hurried over to the sectioned off portion of the room, hoping there was something he could use as a tourniquet or bandage. Relief flooded him when he pushed back the plastic sheet and found folded stacks of clean shop towels, buckets of decade-old paint with wooden stir-sticks waiting on the lids, and an entire flat of bottled water, encased in plastic.

"Guess contractors fell behind…," he mumbled, tucking his phone between two top buttons of his shirt so the flashlight shone out, then proceeded to gather supplies.

The flat of water was heavier than he expected, and his arms trembled as he lifted, but he was able to stagger back over to Magnum without dropping anything. Keeping the phone tucked into his shirt, Ethan got to work.

He first tied a tourniquet around Magnum's upper arm using some of the shop towels and a paint stirrer stick.

"The MacGyver of surgeons," he muttered. "That's me."

The flooring pierced Magnum's arm just below the sleeve of his Hawaiian shirt, so Ethan was able to get a good look at the wound. Without immediate help, it would do more harm than good to pull the wood free, so instead he packed and tied it with the shop towels, frowning as the manipulation of the wound did nothing to bring Magnum around.

Next, he gently turned Magnum's head to get a better look at that wound. Wincing in sympathy, he saw the man's forehead was split open just above his right eyebrow, the wound a deep gash. He opened a water bottle and cleaned the cut as much as he could. Tying two shop towels together, he wrapped it around Magnum's head, attempting to pad the wound as much as possible.

"Okay," Ethan breathed out. "Two down, one to go."

His hands uncharacteristically trembled as he carefully set Magnum's left arm to his side, then palpated the puncture once more, this time drawing a low moan from his patient.

"Easy, man," Ethan whispered. He couldn't see the wound clearly due to the red Hawaiian shirt, and he wasn't about to pull the wood free without knowing what additional damage he might be causing. "Sorry about this, Magnum."

He unbuttoned Magnum's shirt, pulling it as gently as possible away from his body. The wood had pierced the material, pinning it to Magnum's body. Thinking quickly, Ethan hurried back over to the sectioned-off portion of the empty basement. Looking around, he found some more plastic, folded, and stacked at the far end of the room, a yellow plastic utility knife lying on top.

"Yes!"

Grabbing the knife, he hurried back to Magnum, cutting away the shirt so that it now only acted as a thin layer of material between Magnum and the concrete floor. For a moment, Ethan was focused solely on the location of the puncture wound—he'd already determined it hadn't hit Magnum's lung, or the man wouldn't be breathing as he was. It could have hit his intestines—if it was deep enough, maybe even his kidney—but that was impossible to tell without further examination.

Outside of a basement.

For now, he decided to do the same as he had to the wound on Magnum's arm and began to pack and wrap the wound to stabilize it.

That was when he saw the scars.

There were…so many. Thin, white ones that seemed to glow in the light from the cell phone. Puckered, brown ones that gathered the skin at Magnum's shoulder, and both sides of his torso. One even looked like a burn. The wood pierced his skin just below that one, and Ethan felt his brows pull together in confusion and worry.

Memories of what Juliet had shared, bits and pieces of conversation among the men he'd accompanied on this case, floated up before him like splintered boards from a shipwreck. He knew something about their having served. But Juliet had never mentioned-and neither did any of the others-that their service included being prisoners, or this level of...of torture. Seeing this evidence of survival. Of pain. Ethan suddenly realized how very little he knew about the man who'd literally put his body on the line to save him.

Magnum shifted slightly, his left arm coming up to his chest, then dropping once more to his side. A sound that was not quite a whimper, not quite a groan slid from the back of his throat to penetrate the air.

"Easy," Ethan said again, laying his hand against Magnum's neck, checking his heart rate. "You're okay, Mag-, er, Thomas." He grimaced. Which name would ground the man, reassure him?

Magnum shifted again, this time his legs kicking out weakly as if trying to push his body away from whatever was causing him pain. Ethan raised up on his knees, intending to brace the other man's shoulders, when Magnum's eyes suddenly flew open, his gaze wide and unseeing.

"Detente, no te muevas!" Magnum gasped, his voice a weak rasp of sound.

Ethan knew enough to recognize the words as Spanish but didn't know what he said.

"Hey, hey—" he tried, focused on Magnum not moving his right arm, though the man appeared too weak to do much damage, "it's okay, Magnum. It's Ethan. We're okay—we're safe," for now…his rebellious brain supplied.

"Tu carî wan nabînin…," Magnum practically growled, rolling his head away from his blank stare in Ethan's direction, dark eyes roaming the black that surrounded them.

Ethan blinked in surprise. That wasn't Spanish. Maybe…Kurdish?

"Everyone's okay, Magnum," Ethan lied. They certainly weren't okay. "Dennis is safe—"

Magnum suddenly turned back to look at him—seeing him for the first time—his free left hand coming up and gripping Ethan's forearm where it pressed against Magnum's shoulder to keep him still.

"Bezbedno?"

Jesus, how many languages did this guy speak?

"Take it easy, Magnum," Ethan implored, trying to get the wounded man to focus on him. "Look at me, man. Hey, hey…look at me. There you go. We're okay—"

The pain seemed to hit Magnum in a wave just then, cutting off Ethan's whispered reassurances. He squeezed his eyes closed, his neck arching as a shuddering moan slid through his lips, the sound encapsulating more than physical pain, more than fear. It was as if whatever had chased him through the darkness of unconsciousness suddenly surged forward and gripped the man tightly, leaving him helpless to do anything other than vocalize his misery.

Ethan swallowed, releasing Magnum's shoulder, and moving his attention to the wound on his arm, adjusting the tourniquet and hoping it had slowed the blood loss. With the light focused only on what he was facing, Ethan missed Magnum's shaking hand moving toward the pain at his side. He didn't register the danger until he felt his patient jerk and heard him cry out before once more going limp and unresponsive.

"Oh, shit…shit," Ethan exclaimed, forgetting for a moment to whisper.

Magnum had pulled the wood from his side, the piece of flooring now lying in the loose grip of his left hand. Ethan immediately pressed more shop towels against the wound, pushing down as much as he could to try to stop the blood flow. Loosening one hand, he plucked the wood from Magnum's curled fingers and looked at the stain of blood on the tip.

It didn't appear to have gone deep enough to cause organ damage, but that might not matter with the way the damn thing was bleeding.

"Dammit, Magnum," Ethan cursed softly, pressing on the man's side. "That was a really, really bad idea."

He had to stop this bleeding, or he was going to lose him. And he could not go back to Juliet and tell her he'd let her partner die. Magnum's breathing stuttered, his chest convulsing under Ethan's hands.

"Oh, c'mon, don't do this…," Ethan groaned, panic strengthening his voice.

"You hear that?"

The voice floating down from above him had Ethan freezing. He closed his eyes, thankful for a moment that Magnum was once more unconscious.

"Yeah," replied a separate voice. "They ain't dead."

"What's it matter?" demanded the man with the accent—the man Ethan recognized. The man he'd once saved from a bullet wound he'd received in an altercation with the Yakuza. An altercation that resulted in the death of a police officer. "We'll be gone soon, and they ain't getting out. You forget? There's no stairs."

The echoing laughter of the other two men caused a cold sweat to break out across Ethan's entire body. The wound he kept his hands on was still bleeding enough to soak through the shop towels. Magnum needed help, now.

How the hell was he going to get them out of there?

---

The last thing Thomas remembered was grabbing Ethan, thinking only to get him out of the line of fire, and then the sensation of falling, so it was slightly disconcerting to find himself standing outside the house next to Rick, TC, and Dennis with no memory of how he'd gotten there.

His head hurt; he reached up to rub at it and found it impossible to move his arm. Frowning, he looked down at himself but saw nothing that would impede movement.

"Guys, what the hell is going on?" he asked, eyes on his feet, not his friends.

When he looked up again, they'd moved to the other side of the chain linked fence, Rick's hand on Dennis' shoulder in a comforting, guiding manner.

"Hey! Guys—" he started forward and with a sudden, dizzying abruptness, he was standing in the attic once more, the three men he'd been trying to save Dennis from standing over a hole in the floor.

Instinctively, Thomas reached for his gun, arms—now able to move—out in front of him.

"Stop! Don't move!"

Blinking in confusion, he suddenly realized he wasn't holding his gun. His hands were empty. And his vision was spinning. Staggering back, he closed his eyes, a strange sort of breathless pain wrapping around his middle.

"What…the…."

Opening his eyes, he saw mountains, felt a familiar cold chill, and fell to his knees on a gravel road. Holy hell, he knew this place. What was he doing here? Where was the house? Where was Rick? TC? How the fuck—

A fisted hand cracked across his jaw and his head snapped sideways. Sour breath on his face, a growled demand, and Thomas was replying instinctively, "You'll never find them."

"Everyone's okay," the man who'd punched him was suddenly saying. Thomas flinched, watching as the man's features melted before his eyes, puddling, and pooling and becoming something else.

Someone else.

"Dennis is safe—"

"Safe?" Thomas repeated, confused. How could anyone be safe in this hell? They'd all suffered when they were in the Taurus Mountain region. Cooper most of all. But…wait, this wasn't…was he in a…a basement?

What the hell was going on?

"Look at me, man. Hey, hey…look at me."

The voice was familiar, but Thomas could barely see him. There was a bright light coming from somewhere, blinding him, confusing him. He tried to find the source of the voice.

"There you go. We're okay—"

And in that millisecond of attempted reassurance, Thomas remembered. He remembered Gordon's eyes as he asked him to find his son. He remembered thinking of Joe Cooper dying in the explosion of an IED. He remembered fear masked by humor on the face of his brothers. He remembered the terror that permeated the attic room. He remembered knowing Ethan would die if he didn't do something.

He remembered falling.

And the pain hit him like a punch. It was everything. Everywhere. It gripped him like a vice and sent waves of heat through his system, lightning bolts of pressure through his head until he was sure it would burst, and his side…oh God his side.

He was dying.

He could feel it—he'd felt it before, once.

All the little things that made him up, every cell in his body, at once screaming in defiance and acquiescing to the inevitable—but he wasn't ready. He wasn't ready, goddammit. He tried to claw himself away from the pain, feeling as though he was being broken apart, every bone, every joint, every piece of connective tissue cracked and crumbling and dissolving within his skin.

His fingers found the wood—the reason for his pain, he was sure of it. He just had to get it out. Just get it out…get it out…get it out….

And then he exploded, the pain of pulling the wood free sending him reeling and he wanted to scream. He wanted to fight. He wanted to resist. But it was too much, and he was once more falling.

And he was so afraid of where he would land.

---

"We gotta get back in there, man," Rick was pacing along the edge of the chain linked fence, next to where Dennis sat on the curb.

He'd taken off the tank top he wore under his button-up shirt and wrapped it around the deep cut along his ankle. So far, it was holding, but his pacing wasn't helping matters any.

TC nodded. "Don't know what's taking Gordon so long."

"It's only been, like, seven minutes since I texted him," Dennis pointed out.

"We never should have gone in there without back-up," Rick lamented, running anxious fingers through his blond hair, leaving it standing in crazy angles.

TC reached out a hand and planted it flat on his friend's chest. "Breathe, man."

"I am breathing," Rick shot back, but he at least stopped pacing.

TC dropped his chin, looking pointedly at Rick. "We got Dennis away from those guys," he reminded him. "That's the most important part."

"I don't…it's been too long, TC," Rick shook his head. "If he could've gotten out of there, he would have."

TC stared at him, and Rick met his eyes squarely. There was too much truth between them. Rick knew he was irrational when it came to watching out for Thomas, but he owed his life to the man. If it hadn't been for Thomas, Rick would never have made it out of those caves in the Korengal, and TC knew it. No matter what danger Thomas found himself in—through his fault or another's—Rick would be there to find him and bring him home.

It's just how it was.

"I'm with you, brother," TC said softly.

Rick nodded, relief flooding him. He looked down at Dennis. "Hey, kid," he said, grabbing the teenager's attention. He crouched until he was face-to-face with the young Katsumoto. "I need you to stay right here, okay?"

Dennis frowned. "Where are you going?"

"We gotta go back in after Thomas," he said. Dennis opened his mouth to protest, but Rick cut him off. "He needs our help; you stay safe out here, okay?"

"But…but my dad—"

"—is going to be pissed, I know," Rick deflected. "He usually is when we don't wait for him. But he'll get over it. Long as you're safe. You just stay right here and when your dad shows up, you tell him about those guys and what time we went back in, yeah?"

Dennis nodded, gripping his knees. Rick handed him Thomas' phone.

"Keep this until we get back, okay?"

Dennis took the phone and curled his hand to his chest, holding it like a shield. Rick straightened and checked his weapon before nodding to TC. They moved back through the yard, but this time, Rick edged to the side and around the back of the house.

"Never did find those stairs Thomas went up," he muttered.

"You think Ethan's okay?" TC wondered

Rick shot a look over his shoulder at his friend. He'd honestly forgotten about Ethan. "If Thomas is, he is," he declared.

He better be okay.

They rounded the corner and found the back entrance. All thoughts of creepy haunted houses and ghosts disappeared from Rick's mind the moment he'd heard that resonating crash from within the house. He moved inside the dark interior, his weapon at the ready, TC close behind. He felt TC's hand on his shoulder as he moved carefully down the narrow hall toward the great, open room at the end.

Rick's apprehension grew as he heard the creak of steps above him. Someone was still up there, and he was willing to bet Thomas was in the mix. Just then, he felt TC flinch, the jerk of his body pulling Rick back a stumbling step. Turning to see what was wrong, his heart leapt from his chest as the barely-there light reflected off his image in a tall mirror just to their left.

"Sorry, man," TC whispered. "Scared myself."

"You and me both," Rick swallowed, taking a shallow breath.

He glanced once more at the mirror and saw what they'd missed earlier—a set of stairs tucked into the wall just behind them. He turned to TC and jerked his chin in the direction of the stairs. After a moment's confusion, TC picked up what he was putting down and turned, feeling along the wall until he found the opening.

The dying light of day had a dizzying effect on the darkness within the abandoned house. Rick followed TC up the curving staircase, resisting the urge to latch on to the big man's shirt to keep him close. He might not be focusing on the haunted nature of the abandoned house, but the darkness was something else entirely.

As they reached the top of the stairs, a moan hit his ears, causing TC to turn and face him, his wide eyes visible even in the dark. It was a sound of pain and fear and desperation, and it hit Rick in the heart, because he knew.

He knew that was Thomas.

They moved carefully down the hallway, TC's hand going out to flatten Rick against the wall when they reached a hole in the hallway floor. Rick paused, looking up at a mirroring hole in the ceiling above, then carefully peered over the edge to see only darkness below. It was impossible to tell if what had created the hole was still down there.

Until he heard the sharp cry of pain and subsequent fervent curse.

"You hear that?"

Rick jerked at the unexpected voice, feeling TC next to him do the same. He blinked, eyes trained on the light coming from beneath a closed door just down from the hole in the floor.

"Yeah," replied a separate voice. "They ain't dead."

"What's it matter?" demanded an accented man. "We'll be gone soon, and they ain't getting out. You forget? There's no stairs."

Rick peered over the edge of the hole again. Thomas and Ethan were down there. They had made this hole. He nudged TC.

Signaling his friend to head to the far side of the closed door, Rick moved carefully around the hole across the damaged floor and flanked the door opposite TC. He knew the only way they were getting Thomas and Ethan out of this situation was to stop the situation from getting worse, and TC was ready to follow his lead.

What he didn't anticipate, however, was Gordon showing up with the cavalry just then and spooking the hell out of the bad guys.

---

"Dammit," Ethan was up on his knees, keeping one hand on the pressure dressing at Magnum's side, the other on the man's throat counting his rapidly weakening pulse. "C'mon, Magnum, don't do this to me."

He leaned his ear over Magnum's parted lips, praying for even the most minute breath sounds. It was there—barely, but there. He did not want to do CPR unless absolutely necessary. With the way Magnum's rib cage was now just a collection of cracked bones, he was terrified of puncturing a lung.

"That's it," Ethan moved his hand from Magnum's throat to his face, turning his head toward the light from his cell phone, checking his pupils. "You just keep breathing, Magnum. We're getting out of this."

He sank back on his heels, looking up through the hole above him, frowning when it appeared that more shadows were moving around the hole, but darkness was closing in even outside of their cloistered space and it was getting harder to discern movement anywhere but right in front of him. He changed the shop towel pressure dressing again for non-saturated ones and checked the tourniquet on Magnum's arm. Last thing he wanted was to save him from bleeding out but cause him to lose the arm in the process.

Magnum stirred slightly, a soft, barely audible groan slipped through the man's parted lips, and Ethan winced in sympathy.

"From what I can see, you're no stranger to pain," Ethan murmured, eyeing the scarred chest once more. "You can do this, Magnum. You can survive this."

And in that moment, as though just to be obstinate, Magnum stopped breathing.

---

"What the hell are you doing?" Thomas called in a stage whisper to his two best friends currently flanking either side of a closed door.

A closed door he was one hundred percent certain had three armed men on the other side.

"Rick!" He hissed. It was like the man couldn't even hear him—or was ignoring him, which was worse. "Fine, you go, I go."

He reached for his weapon at his back, frowning when he felt nothing there. He watched with mounting horror as Rick and TC nodded to each other—just as sirens blared and halted and Gordon Katsumoto called over a loudspeaker for the men inside to come out with their hands up.

"Fuck," Rick cursed.

"You can say that again," Thomas moved into a position just to Rick's left, avoiding a hole in the floor that gave him an odd, swooping feeling whenever he glanced toward it. "That's going to panic those guys."

"They're panicking," Rick whispered to TC.

TC nodded.

"Pretty sure I just said that," Thomas grumbled. Why weren't they listening to him?

He tensed as the door swung open, curling his hands into fists as TC reached out and grabbed the barrel of the weapon the lead man held before him, twisting his arm, and shoving him hard. The man stumbled back and pinwheeled his arms just at the edge of the hole. Thomas couldn't help it—he reached out at the last second, thinking to grab the man and pull him to safety, when to his absolute shock, his hand passed through the man's arm, and he watched as the man fell through the broken floor.

"What the—"

"TC, watch it!" Rick shouted, pulling Thomas' attention to the fight next to him.

Rick's aim wavered as the biggest of the three men grabbed hold of TC in retaliation for his dumping their friend down a hole and pulled him off his feet and into the room, slamming the door behind. Rick shouted again but had to duck back and away as someone fired through the door.

"Fuck!" Rick shouted again, slamming his head against the wall in frustration.

Thomas watched with detached amazement, his hand still partially extended, looking whole and solid to his eyes. On a shaking breath, he reached out to Rick, attempting to rest his hand on his friend's shoulder in comfort, and jerked back when it passed through his skin and bone as if Rick wasn't even there.

Or…as if he wasn't there.

He closed his eyes and took a shaky breath.

When he opened them again, he was suddenly looking down on himself, Ethan bent over him, and the man TC had tossed lying close by with his head at an unnatural angle, eyes staring into nothing. Thomas blinked, shaking his head, a strange, buzzing sound echoing in his ears.

"What the hell…?" His voice rasped, rough and edged as if he'd been screaming.

"C'mon, Magnum," Ethan gasped. "Breathe, dammit!"

Wait…he wasn't breathing?

Thomas tried to take a breath and realized…he couldn't. And yet he didn't feel as though he was suffocating. He simply…was.

Ethan sat back, lifting his face to the darkness, and called out, "If whoever is tossing down bad guys wants to do something to get us out of here, that would be great!"

Thomas gaped at the body beneath Ethan's hands. His body. Covered in blood, pale, unmoving. The stillness of himself made him shudder. It looked unnatural. Unreal.

"Ethan?"

Rick's voice.

"Tell me you've got some help with you," Ethan pleaded.

"Thomas with you?" Rick called.

"He needs help now," Ethan shouted, turning back to his attempts to revive…well, him.

Thomas felt a strange tingling throughout his body, like every part of him had gone to sleep and was slowly waking, pins and needles taking over. He shivered; he wanted no part of this. This wasn't…wasn't right. It wasn't real.

It wasn't supposed to be real.

There was supposed to be peace at death. A release. A light. Not this…this dizzying confusion. This sense of imprisonment. No. No way he was dying here, stuck in some damn abandoned house for eternity, and worst of all, proving his friend's right.

He reached out to touch Ethan's shoulder and suddenly felt the slam of pain assault him like nothing before. He wasn't looking down at himself any longer, he was looking up at Ethan and sucking in air through trembling lips, his chest stabbing him from the effort.

"That's it," Ethan gasped, nodding, encouraging. "There you go, you're breathing. You're breathing."

Thomas closed his eyes, shuddering with pain. He wanted to stay, to hold on, to tell Ethan that TC was in trouble, that Rick was about to do something really stupid, but the darkness that surrounded them pulled at him and he wasn't strong enough to fight it.

---

"This is just…just fucking swell," Rick grumbled, peering over the edge of the hole in the floor.

Thomas was down there. TC was behind that door. Both needed help right away. He needed to make a choice. He needed to act.

Closing his eyes and resting the barrel of his gun against the bridge of his nose, Rick took a breath. The choice was TC. Thomas had Ethan and with TC, they could save him. Without TC….

"Listen up, assholes!" Rick shouted through the door. "You're gonna send my friend back out here."

"Why would I do that?" shouted a man, his accent catching Rick's attention.

"Because if you don't, I will kill you all," Rick promised, his voice as deadly as he could make it. "Pretty sure your friend who took the swan dive is dead already."

"Yep. He is!" Shouted Ethan from two floors down.

"You fire into this room, you kill your friend, too, maybe," the man shouted back.

"Negative," Rick shouted back, rotating so he faced the door dead-on. "He knows exactly how to avoid my shots."

"Oh?" The man asked, a smirk plain in his voice. "And how is that?"

"Cause they're all straight down the middle," TC's rumble rolled through the closed door just as a heavy thud could be heard on the other side of the door.

Rick fired three shots, dead center of the door, praying with everything in him that it hadn't been TC who hit that door. A low groan from inside the room followed and Rick heard something hit the floor.

"TC?"

"You got 'im!"

"Why aren't you coming out?" Rick felt as if he had a vice around his chest.

"Got…a little problem here."

Heart in his throat, Rick turned the handle and pushed the door open. Inside two camping lights tossed a blue-white glow around the room. The bad guy he'd shot lay prone on the floor next to him; Rick couldn't tell if the man was dead or alive.

The smell of chemicals was enough to make Walter White's eyes burn. TC was standing at the back of the room, a man next to him with the barrel of his weapon pointed at TC's temple and a lighter poised over a tub of liquid.

"Well, this can't be good," Rick murmured.

---

Ethan had barely managed to duck out of the way when the body fell through the floor. He could hear the ruckus above him, but the light of his cell phone—which he wasn't willing to sacrifice—made it impossible for him to see much beyond the top broken boards directly above him. He sensed more than saw the human projectile and instinctively curled his body over Magnum's, suffering only a glancing blow as the bad guy plummeted to the ground, landing with a sickening crack and not moving.

Ethan straightened, peered at the body next to him, and discerned without needing to check his pulse the man was dead and therefore no longer a threat, and returned to trying to revive Magnum without further crushing his ribcage. Hearing more commotion up above, he looked up.

"If whoever is tossing down bad guys wants to do something to get us out of here, that would be great!"

"Ethan?" Rick called back down.

Thank God, Ethan felt his heart shudder in relief.

"Tell me you've got some help with you," Ethan pleaded.

"Thomas with you?" Rick called.

Ethan returned to his patient. "He needs help now."

Magnum's ragged, gasping breath in that moment was the best thing he'd heard all day.

"That's it," Ethan nodded, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of a trembling hand. "There you go, you're breathing. You're breathing."

Magnum's eyes fluttered, rolling almost desperately for a moment, before sliding shut once more. Ethan scrambled but uncoiled slightly when he realized the man was still breathing. He could feel Magnum shaking beneath his flattened hand, the effort to breathe such a monumental task, his body was rapidly weakening. He had to do more than just put pressure on the wound on his side—he had to do something to get them out of there, or Magnum wasn't going to make it.

"Listen up, assholes!" he heard Rick shout from two floors up. "You're gonna send my friend back out here."

"Why would I do that?"

Swell, so the guy he'd saved was still alive. That caused Ethan's gut to twist.

"Because if you don't, I will kill you all," Rick's reply sent chills down Ethan's spine. "Pretty sure your friend who took the swan dive is dead already."

"Yep. He is!" he shouted up through the hole.

Magnum whimpered.

"Magnum? Thomas?" Ethan leaned over him, cupping his jaw, and turning his blood-stained face toward him. "Can you open your eyes?"

"Necesito ayudarlos…." Magnum moaned, his teeth chattering, left hand shaking from pain.

Ethan frowned. Spanish again.

"Necesito ahorrar ellos…." He turned away, eyes closed tight, face folded into a grimace of agony.

"Wait, I think I know that…save? Save them? Is that what you're saying?"

Magnum rolled his head to face Ethan, opened eyes showing as much clarity as Ethan had seen since they fell through the floor.

"Ellos son mis hermanos," he gasped, his voice barely a whisper. "Tengo que salvarlos."

"Hermanos?" Ethan's frown deepened. "Brothers?"

Magnum swallowed, his eyes rolling once more before he seemed to get a firm hold on consciousness. "My b-brothers," he rasped, his trembling hand fumbling for a grip on Ethan's wrist. "I have to…to s-save them." He started to tense, as thought to rise, his face losing what little color it had.

"No! Stop—Magnum you move, you die," Ethan shook his head rapidly. "You can't save—"

But before he could finish his protest, Magnum went boneless, his eyes rolling closed, his breath stuttering.

---

"You will back away, or I will do one of two things," the man with the accent was saying to Rick. "I will kill your friend or drop this lighter."

"That's the dumbest ultimatum ever," Thomas sighed, shaking his head.

He was standing next to a prone body between Rick and TC. Somehow, he was no longer in the cloaked darkness of the basement, pain echoing through him like a live wire. Somehow, he was with his brothers. And there was a weight in his chest, like a vice around his heart, that told him that was not necessarily a good thing.

Thomas knew about the afterlife. The promise of Heaven, the certainty of Hell. His mother had been a practicing Catholic, and he'd been to mass, to confession, studying the Bible, taking the sacrament. He understood the purpose of his mother's faith and the reason she believed so strongly—no doubt until the day she died, sick and alone. But war, seeing the worst humanity had to offer, being kept in a cage, in a cave, beaten and tortured had stripped away any shared faith he might have possessed at one time.

From the time they survived the Korengal, there was only one life for him, no great beyond. No spirits. No ghosts.

And yet…he was standing next to Rick. He was looking at TC. He wasn't racked with pain, unable to breathe, feeling every nerve in his body alight with agony. He was here, and there was no other explanation for it besides…this was his spirit. His soul.

He wasn't attached to the flesh and bone of his frail body; he was greater than that, more than that. He wasn't sure if this meant he was really dying this time, or if his soul was simply anchored to these two men, but at least he was here, now.

At least he was with them.

"So, what you're telling me is that you're ready to die," Rick replied, his head tilting as though to say, I get that.

Thomas couldn't help but grin. His friend was a born badass.

"I think you misunderstand—"

Rick stepped forward and Thomas took that moment to walk between the men in the standoff and step close to the man holding TC hostage.

"If you shoot my friend," Rick interrupted, his voice cold, holding none of the light of the tiki bar owner and all the darkness of the deadly sniper. "I shoot you, you die. If you drop the lighter, we blow up the whole house, you die."

"If I drop the lighter," the accented man smirked, "you also die."

"You kill my friend," Rick lifted a shoulder, "I'm as good as dead anyway, so…your ultimatum means nothing."

Thomas blinked at Rick's confession but didn't let it deter him. He knew what he needed to do, how he could save them in this moment. And it didn't involve his skills as a soldier or a P.I. It didn't even depend on their knowledge of each other, born from the cauldron of prison and pain.

All he had to do was believe. In something greater than him, greater than them. In a power outside of what he could see and touch, in a possibility that he'd denied even this very day—that there was more to life than just living. There was more to them than simply existing.

He stepped forward, leaning close to the man who held TC's life in his hands, and whispered in his ear.

"There will be consequences."

At first nothing changed, but then Thomas detected a frown pulling the man's brows low.

"Stay out of my territory," he quoted, trying to match the pitch and rhythm of Walter White.

The man looked toward where Thomas stood, staring straight through him, then looked back at Rick. Thomas grinned. The three of them had just binge-watched Breaking Bad last month, having missed all the fun when it was originally on—since they'd been in a cave—and he had enough mental ammo to make this half-baked meth head truly believe in ghosts.

"I am the one who knocks."

"What's…what's that you say?" The barrel of the man's gun slipped slightly, now pressing into TC's jaw.

Rick blinked, browse folding in confusion. "Pretty sure I told you I wasn't buying your bullshit," he stated.

The man shook his head, looking back over toward Thomas once more, eyes almost hitting him, but skimming right past. He decided not to linger on why the bad guy could hear him and Rick and TC could not; who was he to understand the rules of spirits?

It was his first day.

"Tread lightly," this time, Thomas had to smile at the flinch.

"Who…who is that?" he shouted, finally taking a step back so the extended lighter was no longer suspended over the plastic bin.

"What are you talking about, man?" Rick slowly lifted his weapon, pointing it at the man's chest.

"Th-that voice!"

"I did it for me," Thomas all-but shouted, watching with satisfaction as the man stumbled back further.

Rick pulled back the hammer of his weapon, but Thomas realized the danger the same time TC did—the muzzle-flash could light up the room just as easily as the dropped lighter.

"No!" they shouted at Rick in unison, TC reaching for Rick, Thomas rushing the bad guy in a desperate attempt to get him away from his friends.

As though he'd seen Thomas coming at him, the man flailed, backing away rapidly until his back hit the boarded-up window, his upper body crashing through it. TC turned quickly and grabbed him, pulling the gun from his grip, and yanking the man back into the room, then shoving him to the floor, kneeling on his back.

"The hell was all that, man?" TC panted, looking up at Rick. "Dude's acting like he saw a ghost."

"He was there! He was there, I'm telling you!" The accented man babbled while TC used his belt to tie the man's hands behind him.

"You know it," Thomas grinned.

"Thomas," Rick breathed.

At that, Thomas flinched in surprise, looking at his friend. Could he…did he hear him?

"Ethan said he was hurt, bad," Rick continued. "We gotta get down there."

"What about this loser?"

"Leave him," Rick and Thomas said in unison. "Let Gordon sort him out," Rick finished.

As his friends left the room, hurrying to the basement, Thomas crouched down so that he could peer into the bad guy's face.

"Maybe you'll think twice before you use kids to poison other kids, asshole," he muttered, watching as the man's eyes flitted around the room, desperately seeking a source of whatever he was hearing.

Thomas laughed and the man cringed away from the sound, which made him laugh harder…right up until he felt a tug in his chest. He stood up, turning toward the opened door, and the tug turned into an ache, which turned into a piercing pain and suddenly he was gone.

Nowhere.

Trapped in an empty space with no light, no air…nothing.

---

"Ethan!"

Rick's voice coming from right above him was like a wave of reassurance.

"Get the hell down here," Ethan shouted without looking up. "I'm losing him!"

"Trying to find a way down," TC called back. "They never put in the stairs."

"So, I heard," Ethan grumbled, breathing for Magnum once more, feeling the man's lungs expand, willing his heart to keep beating.

"Fuck it," Rick muttered. "Lookout below!"

Ethan ducked slightly as he heard the other man land next to them, having jumped through the hole.

"Holy shit, Thomas," Rick breathed, his blue eyes wide and shocked as he limped over, one ankle wrapped in what appeared to be…a t-shirt?

"He's not lost his pulse, not once," Ethan gasped, feeling dizzy from the rescue breaths, "but he stops breathing about every five minutes and he's got so many cracked or broken ribs I can't—"

Rick sank to his knees on the other side of Magnum's broken body, his eyes skimming over his friend, then rested a hand on Ethan's shoulder just as TC called down through the hole.

"I'm going to lead Gordon in!"

"Help's coming, man," Rick said reassuringly. "Take a breath, you did good."

Ethan sagged back, next to Magnum's wounded arm, and let Rick take over the rescue breathing. He watched in a bit of a daze as Rick pressed his mouth to Magnum's pale lips, his breath puffing out the other man's cheeks, filling his chest, and then releasing. There was so much blood, Ethan didn't know if breathing for him was going to matter in the end.

He'd seen patients this bad before. He'd worked on them. He'd fought for them. And he'd lost them.

"C'mon, Tommy," Rick murmured, breathing again. "C'mon, man."

Muted light from his fading cell phone illuminated the two men, turning Magnum's blood black, the scars on his chest standing out like stark reminders that not every story has a happy ending, and sometimes it doesn't matter how many prayers are said, or how much hope there is…sometimes, things just end.

"Breathe, Tommy," Rick pleaded, puffing air into his friend's lungs once more. "Please…."

Ethan felt a clench of emotion at the base of his throat, his vision blurring. He tensed, intending to lean forward and ease Rick back and away when he suddenly saw the figure of someone standing next to the blond man. For a moment, he thought the bad guy who'd been tossed down the hole hadn't been dead after all, but then realized he could still see the body from the corner of his eyes.

He squinted at the figure, the sensation of detachment swimming through him once more. He could almost see an outline of features, but it was too dark, there were too many shadows.

Then the figure smiled. And Ethan gasped.

Rick flinched at the sound, looking over, and Ethan saw the blond follow his line of sight, recognizing the moment he saw the same thing Ethan did. It was like looking at the afterimage on the back of his eyelids from a camera flash.

Rick reached out, drawn to the figure like a magnet.

The moment Rick might have touched it, though, Magnum took a breath, his eyes opening with a light Ethan hadn't seen in them since they'd landed in the basement. And with that breath, whatever had been suspended over him in the last seven seconds was broken. He snapped back to himself, scooting closer to his patient.

"Hey, buddy, there you are," Rick soothed, his whole focus once more returning to Magnum's bleeding, trembling body. He rested one hand on the side of Magnum's neck, gripping his left hand with his other. "You scared me."

"He's bleeding out from this bicep wound and he pulled out the piece of floor that punctured his side before I could stop him—"

"It's okay, Doc," Rick said in the same tone he'd used with Magnum, not looking away from his friend's wide, dark eyes. "You got him this far. You did good. Didn't he, T.M.?"

"R'ck?"

Ethan felt his stomach muscles clench at the sound of Magnum's voice. It was a fraction of the strength and confidence he usually heard from the man. Ethan sank back on his heels, pressing his hand against his mouth, watching the two friends connect. Working to forget what he'd seen.

What he thought he'd seen.

"Right here, man."

Magnum blinked sluggishly, for the first time appearing to be holding on to consciousness.

"Y-you…were gonna…b-blow up—"

"Easy, don't try to talk," Rick shook his head, keeping a hand firmly against the side of Magnum's neck, his thumb pressing on the man's pale cheek. "You kinda skewered yourself with the floor."

Magnum's eyes rolled and Ethan tensed, moving forward automatically, then realized Magnum was just checking Rick's status.

"Y'okay?"

"Am I okay?" Rick scoffed, his features softening with an indulgent smile. "Will you listen to this guy?"

"Y'leg's…bleedin'."

"Yeah, I uh…kinda got a preview of the house of horrors," Rick said, looking down at his hastily wrapped leg. "I'm solid, though. Five-by-five."

Magnum clenched jaw, his eyes closing as he pulled air in through his teeth.

"Easy," Rick crooned. "Keep your eyes on me, Tommy. We're gonna get you out of here, man."

"Hurts…," Magnum groaned.

"Well, you fell three stories," Rick pointed out. "I generally advise against that."

"Breathe…breathin' hurts,'' Magnum continued. "Wh-where's…," his eyes popped open and looked around again. "Where's Ethan?"

"Right here," Ethan leaned forward so that he was in Magnum's line of sight.

"Y'okay?" Magnum gasped, pressing his head back against the concrete, the muscles along his wounded side spasming.

Ethan nodded. "I'm good," he replied over Magnum's groan.

He checked the make-shift pressure dressing he'd used to try to stop the bleeding on Magnum's side, then adjusted the tourniquet on his arm, eliciting a pained cry from the wounded man. Ethan could see the tanned hand Rick held carefully in his own shaking almost uncontrollably. The blood coating one side of Magnum's face had matted his lashes, giving him an almost sinister appearance, but when Ethan caught the man's eyes, he saw nothing but pain.

"Hey, we got the bad guys," Rick said, tugging gently on Magnum's hand, pulling his attention center once more.

"Lighter…almost b-blew you up," Magnum murmured, his face tightening.

Ethan shot a look at Rick when he caught the other man tilting his head in what appeared to be surprise.

"How did you—" Rick's question was cut off when Magnum let out a strangle moan, his eyes rolling closed and his body bowing slightly in retaliation from the pain.

"Hey…hey, now," Rick raised up on his knees, pulling Magnum's hand up against his chest. "Tommy, hey. Look at me. Open your eyes and look at me."

To Ethan's surprise, the other man obeyed.

"Atta boy, you just keep your eyes right here, right on my face," Rick nodded, keeping himself in Magnum's view. "You remember that time in Syria when the Cooper kid got caught by that IED? I got clipped and you had to lead us out?"

Magnum nodded shakily; dark eyes pinned to Rick's face.

"You kept hold of my hand the whole way, brother. You never let go."

"Eres mi hermano…tuve que salvarte…," Magnum managed, his voice tight as he fought against the agony the simple act of breathing caused.

"He was doing that earlier," Ethan offered. "Kept slipping into a bunch of different languages."

"Yeah, he does that sometimes," Rick replied softly, not taking his eyes off Magnum. "That's right, man, I'm your brother. And you're mine. And I'm not letting go. So, you can't either, okay?"

Magnum's chin shook and he groaned in response.

"Okay, Tommy?"

"…K," Magnum whispered, closing his eyes, but Ethan could see he was still aware, just by the way he held tightly to Rick's hand.

"How many languages does he speak?" Ethan asked, feeling the darkness of the room close around them as his cell phone light dimmed.

"Five...fluently. Bits and pieces to get by in like seven. Last count," Rick replied.

Ethan let out a quick huff of surprise. This man was nothing like he'd originally let on. No wonder it had been so complicated for Juliet to explain her connection to him when they'd first met.

"He sometimes gets them all confused when he's hurting," Rick elaborated.

"Hello!"

Ethan jerked, startled at the sudden voice coming from another area of the basement.

"Rick, Thomas, you guys still there?"

Rick's face relaxed into a relieved grin. "'Bout time you guys showed up."

"Trying to find the damn stairs in this place," TC grumbled.

"Good luck," Rick called back. "They don't exist."

"How's T.M.?"

"He'll be real glad to get out of here and get some meds pronto," Rick replied.

"Roger that," TC called. "Help's about five mikes out."

"You hear that, Tommy?" Rick leaned over his friend once more, his thumb stroking the skin just beneath Magnum's eye. "Gonna get you outta here, get you fixed up."

"C-cold," Magnum murmured.

"Yeah, I'll bet you are," Rick nodded. "That's 'cause you're supposed to keep all the blood of yours on the inside."

"My bad," Magnum replied, his dark eyes cracking open slightly. "Ethan okay?"

Ethan frowned at the repeated question, noting it to share with his treating physician.

"He's good," Rick nodded. "He's right here."

"S-saved me," Magnum sighed. "Breathed for me."

Ethan blinked in surprise. It was a logical conclusion to make, but not one he would have thought Magnum capable of drawing in his current state.

"Yeah, he did," Rick nodded. "What do you say we keep him around a little while?"

Magnum shivered, his jaw rippling with the effect. "T-tired," he murmured.

"I know you are, but I need you to stay with me," Rick tugged on Magnum's hand. "C'mon, Tommy, you don't want to leave me in the basement of a haunted house, now, do you? Even if you don't believe in ghosts."

"B-believe…," Magnum whispered. "S-saw you…."

Rick frowned, leaning closer. "What's that? What'd you see?" When Magnum didn't respond, Rick shook his hand gently. "C'mon, you can't leave me with that cliffhanger, man." He moved his hand away from Magnum's face and rubbed his knuckles against his sternum. "Tommy? Hey, Thomas, c'mon, man."

Ethan leaned closer and checked his pulse, then his breathing. "He's out," he told Rick. "But he's got a pulse. He's breathing."

"TC!" Rick shouted. "Where the hell's that ambulance?"

"Heading down," Gordon Katsumoto's voice called back. "Had to rig up a pulley system to get him out."

Rick and Ethan looked up as Gordon dropped down into the stairwell hole, followed by two flashlights that instantly took the place of Ethan's dying cell phone light. As Gordon drew closer, four other flashlight-bearing people dropped down, followed by a spinal board.

"Jesus," Gordon breathed as he paused next to the body of the man who'd broken his neck when he fell from the second story.

"That wasn't us," Ethan said quickly.

Gordon looked at him, then focused the light on Magnum and Rick. In the beam of the flashlight, Magnum's wounds looked even more horrific. Blood smeared his chest, arm, face, and the floor beneath him.

"Is he—"

"He's alive," Rick replied, not looking up. "But, uh…there's another guy upstairs who isn't and one more we left tied up."

"We got 'em," Gordon nodded, crouching down near Magnum's head as the EMTs moved in.

Magnum opened his eyes with a gasp when Rick released his hand. He flailed for a moment, looking as if he were fighting for balance, and Gordon rested a hand on his shoulder, steadying him.

"You're okay, Magnum."

Blinking dark eyes against the beam of the flashlight, Magnum squinted back at the police detective.

"Gordy," he recognized, his voice thin. "Dennis okay?"

Gordon smiled, nodding. "He's good. We're gonna get you some help, okay?"

"K."

Ethan stood, wavering once upright. He felt a strong hand on his arm and looked over at Rick gratefully. He stepped back as the EMTs worked on Magnum, calling out a few tidbits of information he felt they'd need to know as they placed a C-collar on him, hooked up an IV, replaced the tourniquet, and carefully rolled him onto the spinal board. TC dropped down into the stairwell hole just as they were strapping Magnum in for transport.

"TC," Magnum called.

"Right here, Thomas," TC stepped close. "Had to be the basement of a haunted house, huh?" he teased, tugging up his khaki shorts.

"You...n-need your belt," Magnum murmured.

"Huh? Okay, yeah. You're right," TC chuckled. "Musta forgot it."

"Bad guy's got it," Magnum sighed, his eyes sliding closed as the EMTs picked up the backboard.

TC looked over at Rick in confusion and surprise. "Did you hear what he just…?"

Rick nodded. "Yeah, I did."

He stepped up closer to TC, watching as the rescue crew attached the backboard carrying Magnum to the pulley they'd rigged up and lifted him from the darkness of the basement to the brilliance of the lights above.

"He said something else weird, too," Rick continued. "Before you got down here, he said I almost blew up."

TC drew his head back in surprise. "How the hell?"

They both turned to look at Ethan, who at this point was barely on his feet.

"What?" Ethan blinked back at them.

"Anything weird happen while you were trapped down here with our boy?" Rick demanded.

Ethan's eyebrows bounced to his hairline. "You mean…other than finding out the guy is basically covered in scars, having him stop breathing on me about ten time and ramble in like…three different languages…while dodging a man who broke his neck in the same fall we just survived…?"

Rick tilted his head. "Yeah. Other than that."

Ethan took a breath, then let it out slowly. "No. Nothing weird. But that could be the concussion talking."

"You three coming?" Gordon called down through the stairwell hole.

"On your six," Rick shouted back, moving forward. He put a hand on Ethan's shoulder. "C'mon, Doc," he coaxed. "Let's get you checked out."

Ethan nodded weakly in agreement. He was pretty sure he could feel every single one of his muscles. The flashlights moved away from the stairwell opening as several of the EMTs took Thomas from the house, pitching the basement into darkness. Ethan noticed Rick starting to get twitchy next to him

"You weren't surprised by all his scars," he commented as he waited for his turn on the rescue basket.

Rick bounced a shoulder. "Probably because we were there for the origin of most of them," he replied, his eyes up toward what was left of the light.

"Were you...POWs?"

TC nodded, grabbing the basket as it was lowered to them. "Yeah, those were some…some really bad months."

Balancing the edge of the basket, Rick muttered, "Can we discuss the bad months at a bar and not, you know, in the basement of a haunted house?"

"Guess, I just…," Ethan paused before he climbed in. "He's just always so…I don't know. Easy-going? Doesn't strike me as someone who's been through everything that would leave behind that much…visible history."

"Heroes aren't born out of happiness, Doc," Rick said, helping him rotate his tired, sore body into the basket. "And our boy's definitely a hero."

"Yeah," Ethan nodded, slightly dazed as he thought about what Magnum had done in the last twelve hours to help one friend and save another.

Once on the main floor, he allowed himself to be helped from the basket and set on a gurney to get checked out. He watched as Rick and then TC were pulled up from the basement, then made their way out of the house to where Thomas was being further stabilized for the journey to the hospital.

Gordon paused next to him, wrapping something around his hand, and waited until he was given the okay to head to the hospital on his own recognizance.

"C'mon, Doc," Gordon said, having apparently picked up on the nickname the others had bestowed on him. "I'll take you. The other two will no doubt ride in the ambulance with Magnum."

"What's that?" Ethan pointed to the piece of leather wrapped around Gordon's hand as they headed to where the two men stood close to Magnum's gurney.

"A belt," Gordon replied. "Guessing it's one of theirs—it was used to tie up one of the meth dealers."

Ethan felt a shiver slid down his spine. "Pretty sure it's TC's," he replied. "Hey, Detective?"

Gordon glanced to the side as they closed the distance to the ambulance.

"Did you also find a…a lighter in that room? Like," he shrugged, "a cigarette lighter?"

Gordon straightened up. "Yeah…in fact we did."

They stopped next to where an EMT was putting an oxygen mask over Magnum's face and lifting the gurney into the waiting ambulance. Rick and TC were watching them approach, listening to their conversation with twin looks of apprehension coloring their faces in the dancing blue and red lights of the rescue vehicles.

"How'd you know that?" Gordon continued.

"I didn't…," Ethan said, looking at Rick.

"Thomas did," Rick said in awed confusion.

"He knew about that, too," Ethan pointed to the belt around Gordon's hand.

Gordon handed the belt to TC.

"That dude kept saying something when we were restraining him," TC commented.

"He was saying he was there," Rick remembered. "He was acting all squirrely, too."

"Not squirrely," TC shook his head. "Scared. Almost like he was seeing a…," he glanced into the ambulance at where Thomas lay secure under the blankets and straps, "ghost."

An EMT stuck her head out of the back of the ambulance. "Whoever's going, load up. We're heading out."

Without another word, Rick and TC climbed into the back of the ambulance, and Ethan saw Magnum turn his head groggily toward his friends, Rick wrapping a hand around the other man's fingers as the doors shut and the vehicle took off.

"And here I thought I was giving him the easy part of the job," Gordon sighed, watching the ambulance drive away.

"I'm glad your son is okay," Ethan told him, sincerely. "Seems like a good kid."

Gordon smiled his thanks. "Car's this way," he gestured.

Ethan followed, his muscles stiff and protesting. "Detective," he said finally as they reached Katsumoto's car. "You think it's possible Magnum…I don't know. Was like…haunting that man? And that's how he knew those things?"

Gordon huffed a small, appreciative laugh. "I think if there is any way to do the right thing, Thomas Magnum is going to find it. Even if it means he has to do it from beyond the grave."

Ethan looked back at the house, his fingers on the door handle. "There were a few moments when I didn't think I was going to get him back," he admitted. "I thought I was sitting in the room with a dead man." He looked back at Gordon. "But he always came back. Like…he fought to come back."

Gordon nodded. "Yeah, that tracks," he said, opening his door.

Ethan climbed inside and sat still in the silence of the car before Gordon spoke up again.

"Have you ever heard of Kintsugi?"

Ethan shook his head, watching the Police Detective with tired eyes.

"It's the Japanese art of putting broken pottery pieces back together with gold," he explained. "If there was a personification of Kintsugi, it would be Magnum."

Ethan smiled, leaning his head back. He could see that. The broken pieces—both literal and metaphorical—of the man reassembled with golden light shining through. Enough so that he saved Ethan's life and fought his way back to life over and over until help came for them.

"But if you ever tell him I said that," Gordon continued, pulling out onto the road and heading to the hospital, "I'll deny it to my last breath."

"Understood," Ethan closed his eyes. "I'll take it to my grave."

END

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A/N: My sincere thanks for reading. I'm not sure where the next idea will take me, or what fandom the muse will seek to explore, but I always look forward to the adventure. And I always appreciate the gift of your time.

Stay safe, everyone.