It hit differently when it was one of their own.
Gordon hadn't wanted to leave the chasm that Virgil had vanished into- it felt like abandoning him. And try as he might, he couldn't help but imagine what could be going on down there, visualising his brother bleeding out, or suffocating on his own collapsed airway, or dying in one of a dozen different ways, all alone in the dark.
That was the hard part about learning all the ways the human body could break- having all those potential scenarios right there and ready to play in gory technicolour the instant his very vivid imagination had something to latch onto. And he knew from personal experience about the many different things that could happen to someone in this situation.
He hadn't wanted to go but they needed equipment. Finding Virgil was one problem, getting to him was the second, and all of it would be for naught if they didn't have the equipment to get him out and treat him. Scott's tiny trauma kit on his baldric was only made to hold someone long enough for Virgil and his big trauma kit to arrive, but this time it was Virgil they were going after.
The climb out of the collapsed building had seemed like an eternity, the bright light outside and brilliant blue sky a mockery as they sprinted for Two's open module, snatching up ropes, rappelling gear, fresh grapple launchers and cable packs, a rescue basket and the trauma backpack. John was in their ears constantly, updating on his lack of updates- Virgil was just too deep in the natural Faraday Cage of the steel foundations for their systems to pick him up or his bio-monitor's signals to reach them.
At least that was what they were all telling themselves. The alternative was unthinkable.
Now he was being lowered into the pit, the straps of the backpack digging into his shoulders and his torch seemed feeble against the cloying darkness. Scott was spooling out the line, calling out the numbers as he dropped deeper and deeper into the crevice. Scott had wanted to be the one going in, as eldest he felt it was his duty to be the one to go if the worst had come to pass. But physics got in the way of sentiment- Scott was taller and heavier, even with the pulley system, logic dictated it had to be Gordon.
He had knot of fear the size of an iceberg in his chest by the time they passed the 200 metre mark. No way Virgil could have survived a fall from this height.
Suddenly his torch caught a flicker of a colour out of place in the greys and browns of broken concrete and rusting rebar. Blue. Bright, bold blue. "Scott, stop!" He called up. The rope stopped and he turned, heart in his throat as he played his torch in that direction. The splash of blue resolved itself into a foot, then a leg, then the rest of Virgil. He shone his torch over Virgil's face and to his relief, Virgil winced and shut his eyes against the light.
The iceberg melted, Virgil was alive! Awkwardly sprawled, and at minimum with bumps, bruises, some minor cuts and a broken arm by the way he was cradling it, but he was there and he was alive! One hand moved and he flicked a thumbs up at Gordon. His baldric had saved him, Gordon could see that now, a spur of rebar had somehow hooked him right behind his shoulder blade, stopping his fall.
As he swung over and started assessment, Gordon silently thanked their Dad for not listening to him about the baldrics.