Everything hurt.

It was the only thought echoing in Virgil's mind.

Breathing made his chest hurt, his head pound and his throat burn. He wanted everything to go black again.

Eventually, more thoughts began to filter through. Surrendering back to the darkness was bad; being unconscious was never a good thing.

But right now, Virgil just wanted everything to stop hurting. Even the most gruelling of rescues hadn't left him feeling like this.

He couldn't open his eyes; that action was beyond him. He lay still, concentrating on his breathing and trying to ignore the pain.

It then dawned on him that he was, indeed, lying down. By now, he was convinced he was alive - it would be a cruel joke to wake up dead and still be in this much pain.

But how was he lying down?

One of the last things he remembered was straining against the chains, still slumped against the wall as the water had risen to his chin. He tried not to dwell on the very last thing he remembered: the water continuing to rise.

His fingers twitched as he thought about where he had been. Virgil realised they weren't suspended above his head any longer but resting comfortably by his side. They brushed against something soft and he managed to move them again to confirm what he was feeling.

He wasn't in the crypt any more.

"Virg?"

Virgil frowned. That was his father's voice; he was certain of it. But that couldn't be possible… could it? He fought to open his eyes, his body rebelling and refusing to perform even that simple action. He heard a grunt, a distant and muffled sound, then realised it had come from him as he tried – and failed – to look around.

"Easy, son," the voice soothed, accompanied by the feeling of a hand brushing through his hair, "it's okay. You're safe. You're at the hospital."

Virgil relaxed at both the touch and the words. He lay there, focusing on breathing for a moment. But as he relaxed, he realised he could see a slither of light. Now he had stopped fighting against himself, his eyes were starting to open of their own accord. Virgil would have blushed at the whine that escaped him next if he'd had the energy, but he never knew simple things could be so hard!

Still, that didn't stop a whimper as his eyes opened and he flinched at the bright light. It was too much like the spotlight that had stopped him from recognising his captors when he had first been taken. He screwed his eyes shut but the light dimmed. Virgil looked again and realised it had been angled away from the bed. He could look around properly.

"Dad?" His voice was little more than a whisper, but it was hoarse and rough. Virgil swallowed, then grimaced as that also hurt.

"Virgil."

Virgil had never heard his father sound like that. Vulnerable; afraid; old. He slowly turned his head, trying not to wince, until he could look at the man.

As he did so, however, relief flooded his father's expression. He smiled at his son and for a brief moment, Virgil felt overwhelmed. Although he had tried to tell himself that he would escape, deep down, some part of him had accepted that he wouldn't see his family again. Seeing his dad sitting there, watching over him, made his breathing hitch again.

He was just grateful the man didn't ask the question Virgil knew he must be thinking: how was he feeling. He couldn't answer that even if he wanted to – his entire body felt as if it didn't belong to him right now.

"Scott?" Virgil whispered, knowing his voice wasn't up to anything louder. If he was here, in the hospital, then it had to mean that his big brother was here somewhere. There was no other explanation. But his father's expression closed down and panic overtook Virgil.

"Where is he?" he said, his voice desperate as he tried to rise. His dad's hand was on his shoulder and it took no effort to keep him down.

Scott had to be here. Nothing else made sense. Virgil had no idea if John and Gordon had survived the explosion and his dad was looking so grave that he couldn't tell by his expression. If Scott hadn't escaped, then Virgil had no idea how he was alive.

"Dad-," Virgil whispered - begged - staring at the man. He needed his father to tell him everything was going to be alright, just the way he had before when they were young. He needed him to say that Scott was still with them, that they hadn't lost him to Blag.

But when his father spoke, they were the wrong words: "I'm sorry, Virgil."

"No!" Virgil fought – against his father, against the blankets, against the tubes currently trailing into his arm that he hadn't even noticed. A machine started beeping as Virgil thrashed, but he ignored it. His dad didn't understand: if Scott wasn't here, it meant that Blag still had him. If that was the case, then his brother would believe Virgil was dead. He knew too well what that would be doing to Scott.

He had to find him, had to tell Scott that he was okay and that it wasn't his fault. He had to-

Virgil sucked in a ragged breath, trying to think straight. All that happened was he was driven to a coughing fit as his throat protested and another monitor started beeping.

His father moved until he was perched on the bed, his hands resting on Virgil's shoulders, forcing him to meet his eye.

"Virgil, listen to me."

Virgil shook his head, struggling to breathe. Scott couldn't be gone. Not again. He couldn't go through this again – although Virgil was no longer certain if he was thinking of Scott or himself. He couldn't lose his brother to that madman again.

"Virgil."

His father's tone was reassuring and Virgil listened to it even if he didn't want to. He didn't want to calm down, but his father's presence grounded him. There had been so many tough occasions in their lives, from their childhood to running rescues, where his dad's voice was the only thing that had kept him going.

Virgil focused, but jumped when he realised there was someone else in the room. The doctor was standing at the end of his bed, a firm expression on his face. He then noticed that one of his father's hands had left his shoulders and was gesturing for the man to stay back. Virgil took a breath, understanding what was going on. If he didn't calm down, the doctor would give him something. He needed to stay lucid.

It took a moment, but Virgil collapsed weakly back against the pillow, numbness overtaking the panic. The doctor gave him a long, measured look before leaving. Virgil knew he wouldn't be gone for long, not now his patient was conscious again.

"He's gone?"

"We will find him, Virgil," his dad said, pure conviction in his voice, "I promise."

"Dad-," Virgil looked away before forcing himself to meet the man's gaze. "John, Gordon, they-,"

"Are currently fighting over who gets the en-suite at the hotel across the road."

Virgil blinked. "What?"

"Virg…son…" Jeff squeezed Virgil's shoulder. "You've been out for two days."

"But-," His confusion was obvious in his expression.

"You drowned, Virgil," his dad said gently. "Gordon only just got you breathing again."

"I…drowned?" He knew he had felt the water closing over his head and shuddered. He refused to think about it. He had been trying to refuse to accept it, not understanding how he was alive if that had truly been the case. His father winced but nodded.

"But-," Virgil frowned as he tried to piece things together. "I saw the explosion. Scott told me he was further away; he didn't know if the others were alive."

"They survived," his dad said. "They survived and were coming after you, coming after Scott, within an hour of the explosion."

"But, how-?"

"You were missing," Jeff said gravely, "and we knew about Blag."

Virgil frowned, then remembered with a jolt how his father and brother had been behaving when he had gone to get a drink on that fateful night. Scott was convinced the man was hiding something – now Virgil realised what that something was. His dad had known Blag had broken out.

His dad sighed, running a hand through his hair at Virgil's blank expression. "John wasn't going to let Scott do anything rash."

Virgil stared at the man. Then a soft exclamation escaped him as he realised what his father was implying.

"John bugged him?" He said quietly. His father nodded softly and a smile began spreading over Virgil's face.

"You know where he is?"

"No."

"No? But-,"

"John did bug him, Virgil. But it didn't lead your brothers to Scott. It led them to you. It saved your life."

Virgil tried to process what his father was telling him. Scott hadn't done anything to be able to pass the bug on. Besides, Virgil knew his brother would have given him some sort of sign if he had known it was there; technology was a greater reassurance than false promises. Scott hadn't said anything though; he hadn't known. Virgil's eyes went wide as he realised the only plausible explanation.

"He gave me his jacket," Virgil whispered, his voice trembling, "if I hadn't said I was cold…"

"You would be dead." His father said it bluntly, but his voice cracked and Virgil wondered how close to dying he had come.

He could remember desperately trying to draw a few more breaths of air, then the panic when he realised he couldn't. He remembered…no… Virgil slammed mental barriers around his thoughts. He refused to think of anything that came after that. He couldn't, not his dad said he had been unconscious for two days and he wondered how touch and go it had been. His dad was pale and drawn, exhaustion obvious in the slump of his shoulders. Virgil knew the man wouldn't have left his side in those two days.

Virgil shifted. He was tired and in pain but had no intention of being told to go back to sleep. "Are you okay?" he muttered, hoping to deflect his father's attention elsewhere for a few moments.

Jeff laughed, a hollow, disbelieving sound. "You're the one who drowned."

"You're the one sitting on a hard, plastic chair," Virgil argued. He wondered what it was doing to his father to once again be sitting beside an unconscious son, waiting to hear if he had been pulled from the water in time.

His dad leant forward, clasping one of Virgil's hands in his own. Virgil hadn't noticed the bandages wrapped around his wrists until now and knew fighting against the restraints for so long would have left their mark.

"I thought I'd lost you," his dad murmured, his voice soft and broken. Virgil couldn't meet his gaze – he truly hadn't been expecting to make it out of that crypt alive.

"Takes more than a creep to get rid of me," he muttered, his voice falling flat. It would be better if he had helped save himself, but Virgil was painfully aware it was sheer luck, and nothing else, that meant they were even having this conversation.

"I'm okay, Dad." He shifted position again. "What about Matt?"

A flash of guilt shot through him that it had taken until now before he had considered what had happened to his friend.

But his dad didn't get the chance to tell him. The door opened and another voice cut into the conversation.

"You're kidding me, right?" Gordon drawled, stepping into the room. "I sat there for two days, killing my back by the way, waiting for you to wake up. I go out for five minutes and what happens?"

Virgil slumped back against the pillows as sheer relief coursed through him. His father had told him that his brothers were alive, but it was only upon seeing Gordon standing there, an indignant expression on his face, that Virgil finally believed it. His brother looked as drawn as their father, despite his casual tone, but he was standing there, breathing, alive.

Gordon smiled softly at him, his expression mirroring Virgil's thoughts.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi," Virgil responded, watching as Gordon spun a chair around and straddled it. He didn't know what else to say – events were tumbling over themselves in his mind as he grasped the fact that his brothers were indeed alive.

"Where's John?" their dad asked, standing up as he did so. Virgil was not the only one to notice how stiff the man's movements were if Gordon's concerned expression was anything to go by.

"Fussing over his hair?" Gordon shrugged. He caught Virgil's eye and winked. "He's on his way."

Jeff nodded, reaching for his jacket. "Stay with your brother, Gordon," he said, "I'm going to get a coffee and find the doctor."

Virgil rested back against the pillows, absently wondering how much caffeine his father had consumed over the last two days. Even over the entire time he had been missing. The man looked exhausted.

Gordon, however, twisted, reaching out a hand to stop their dad from going any further.

"Dad, wait," he said. His voice was soft and serious, a complete contrast to his earlier drawl. The look in his eye – from what Virgil could see – reflected that. Their father stopped, glancing between Gordon and Virgil.

"What?"

"Get something to eat?"

Jeff didn't respond but left the room. Gordon let out a sigh and turned back around. He rested his arms across the top of the chair and grimaced.

"I never could get him to listen. How do you guys do it?"

Virgil didn't answer. He might have been the one in a hospital bed, but his brother looked ready to drop and Virgil wondered what they had been through. There had been the explosion, then no doubt a rush across the country to try and find Scott. He didn't know if his brother was hurt or just exhausted. But considering half an hour ago he hadn't even known if Gordon was alive, Virgil supposed that was progress.

After a moment, Gordon realised how closely he was being watched. He squirmed in his seat, avoiding Virgil's gaze.

"What?" He sounded so much like their father that Virgil almost smiled.

"You look like crap," Virgil said. Gordon stared at him, then burst out laughing. There was a hysterical edge to it, though, and Virgil knew his brother was struggling to deal with a turmoil of emotions right now.

"Says the guy who drowned," Gordon retorted.

Virgil glared. That was the second time that had been used to deflect how others were feeling and he knew his family were going to hold it over him for a while. Then he softened, glancing at the door before back at Gordon.

"About that," he muttered. He didn't know what his brothers had been through, but from what his father said, Gordon was the reason why he was alive. "Dad said you were the one to get me out. You saved my life, Gords."

Gordon didn't answer but he stiffened where he sat.

"Gordon?"

"You weren't breathing," Gordon whispered, his hands clenched into fists. Virgil wished he could reach his brother to comfort him.

"Tell me," Virgil commanded. He knew what Gordon was like on a bad rescue – he tried to close off when really, he needed to say it out loud. This was the same: just another bad rescue.

Thinking about it like that was the only way Virgil could concentrate on Gordon rather than Scott being missing.

Stuttering, lacking his normal confidence, Gordon slowly began to fill Virgil in on everything that had happened since he had gone missing. Virgil was amazed his brothers hadn't been badly hurt in the explosion and grateful his father had forced them to get checked out.

Gordon's voice gained in strength as he spoke. Virgil could scarcely believe his brothers had arrived just in time to save him. But watching that helicopter leave, knowing it was taking Scott beyond their reach, went a long way to explain why Gordon looked as haunted as their father.

Gordon's voice cracked completely when he spoke about trying to get Virgil breathing again. Virgil knew from rescues how that felt, but couldn't imagine what it was like when it was a brother rather than a stranger.

Gordon fell silent, his gaze on the floor once he had finished.

"I'd hug you if I could move," Virgil said honestly. Gordon looked up and smiled. This time, it looked genuine.

"Thank God you can't then," he said. Virgil rolled his eyes with a grin of his own, grateful that Gordon sounded more like himself again. He tried to move and tensed as his body protested. When he finally forced himself to relax again, he saw Gordon watching him with a knowing expression.

"Sucks, huh?"

Virgil nodded mutely – he felt exhausted again. But Gordon wasn't just being sympathetic; he knew what it felt like. He had been in this position and he understood.

"Virg, I…"

Gordon trailed off, running a hand through his hair. He took a deep breath.

"I…" he seemed unable to finish his sentence.

"What is it, Gords?" Virgil asked softly. He had never seen his brother struggle to find the words before.

"If you want to talk about it, I'm here," Gordon blurted out, refusing to meet Virgil's eye. "I mean, I know that helplessness, and feeling the water, and…"

He broke off again, shuddering. His own brush with death had caused more scars than Gordon had ever admitted and Virgil realised what a big deal it was for his brother to even mention it.

"Thanks, kid," he whispered, the utmost sincerity in his tone.

Right now, talking about it was the last thing Virgil wanted. Drowning wasn't the only thing on his mind and he had no intention of sharing his thoughts with his little brother. He had been with Blag for almost a week – a week of being beaten, humiliated, starved and feeling utterly helpless. Then he had watched his best friend be put in a worse position and there wasn't anything he could have done to help.

He wasn't about to tell Gordon any of that.

Gordon forced a grin, nodded at him and started talking about random things. Their moment was over, but not forgotten. Virgil was only half-listening. He didn't have time to be in a bed. He needed to get out of there and find Scott.

But that was as far as his thoughts got before he fell asleep again.

The lights were dimmed and the room quiet when Virgil awoke. His head pounded with far more intensity than before and his stomach rolled. He groaned, not opening his eyes. He sensed that he wasn't alone but no one immediately rushed to his side as soon as he made a sound.

It had to be John with him.

"Virg?"

He was right: John's soft voice was reassuring. Virgil finally knew for certain that both brothers had survived the explosion.

He rolled his head to one side. He didn't want John asking how he was feeling, so instead attempted to grin to reassure his brother.

He couldn't.

Moving his head was agonising and Virgil groaned again, hoping he wasn't about to be sick. He was glad this hadn't happened in front of Gordon. Part of him wondered if it was because he was with a big brother again; subconsciously he knew he didn't have to put on a front.

He tried to say something but started coughing instead. Every time he tried to draw a breath, the cough built. Virgil felt tears pricking his eyes as he struggled to breathe, but he couldn't stop coughing, retching weakly as he did so. Everything hurt.

"Easy, Virg," John helped him sit up, supporting him, one hand a comforting weight on his back. "I've got you."

Virgil was aware of the door opening, but paid no attention to who came in. Instead, he focused on John's voice telling him that it was alright, that he was safe. He eventually stopped coughing, but still couldn't breathe properly. His mind flashed back to the last time this happened and Virgil panicked, convinced he was once again in that crypt with the water levels rising.

He was vaguely aware of a mask being slipped over his face and his hands instinctively rose. John caught both of them in one of his own.

"Leave it," he said, his tone firm enough that Virgil obeyed.

"It's oxygen," John continued, his voice cutting through the descending fog. "You've gone through hell, little brother. Leave it on; you'll feel better."

Virgil saw the doctor stepping back and realised it wasn't John who had put the mask on him. He started breathing easier again, the pounding in his head reducing as the fresh oxygen worked its way into his body. The doctor checked a few readings, murmured something to John and left again.

Virgil remained still for another few moments, concentrating on his breathing, before lifting the mask. John let him this time, even helping draw it over his head.

"Hate those things," Virgil rasped. John grimaced sympathetically.

"That's what you get for making yourself panic," he said, slipping out from behind him and sitting back in his seat. "Welcome back, Virg."

"Thanks," Virgil muttered, leaning back on the pillows. He hadn't been awake for long, and yet felt utterly exhausted. It wasn't just the panic attack or the coughing. Blag had wanted to hurt Scott as much as possible: his men had been given a free reign for the entire time Virgil had been their prisoner. The more marks on him by the time Scott arrived, the better by Blag's reckoning. He also hadn't been allowed to sleep.

"Try not to move," John cautioned, "you've taken some pretty bad hits."

"How bad?"

"I-,"

"I know you know." Virgil sounded stronger and fixed John with a look that told his brother he wanted answers, even if he had to get them himself. John sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"Severe bruising everywhere, a fractured wrist, a few hairline fractures in other places, early signs of hypothermia, dehydration and whatever the drowning did."

"Damn," Virgil leant back, disheartened. He wouldn't be getting out any time soon.

"Don't even think about it," John suddenly said. Virgil jumped, glancing at him.

"What?"

"I know why you wanted to know. You want to know how long until you can make some sort of escape."

"I…" Virgil felt his cheeks colouring, although he didn't know if it was embarrassment or anger. "Someone has to find Scott! You three have sat around for two days waiting for me. You should be looking for him!"

Virgil knew his words were cruel and uncalled for. But Scott would think he was dead. If his brother broke, then Virgil knew it would be because of him. He wasn't prepared to accept that.

John, however, didn't flinch. He looked at Virgil steadily.

"Where are you going to start? Have you even tried moving yet? Just because I've been sitting here doesn't mean I haven't been looking for him."

Virgil opened his mouth, but John wasn't done.

"You didn't have a heartbeat when we found you. You were technically dead. I had to watch Gordon fight to get you breathing again! I'm looking for Scott, but damnit, Virgil, I had to know you were going to live first!"

It was the most emotional Virgil had heard John sound for years and he realised what his almost-death had done to his brother. But John wasn't the only one who thought he had lost a sibling.

"I lost you too!" Virgil forced himself to sit up, willing his body to not betray him.

"What?"

"I saw what happened at the hangar."

"How?"

"Same way Dad did," Virgil shrugged. "I thought I had lost you all until they threw Scott in. But he had no idea if you were alive or not. We thought you guys were dead…"

Virgil's voice cracked. He hadn't given himself the chance to come to terms with the fact he had believed his brothers had been killed, found out they were alive and then learnt they had lost Scott. It was one thing dealing with almost dying. It was another thing entirely accepting the same had happened to the rest of his family.

John had no answer. They were both thinking the same thing: Scott could now believe three out of his four brothers were dead. That would destroy him beyond anything else Blag could do. There was tension in the room and Virgil knew he had caused it by snapping.

But he didn't regret his outburst: he had needed it. John was the only one he felt would be able to take it; it was why the words had come tumbling out when faced with his older brother. The look on John's face indicated he was aware of what had just happened.

"Virg-,"

"Get some sleep?" Virgil said bitterly, frustration lacing his tone. John leant forward and squeezed his shoulder gently.

"You got it, kiddo."

Virgil felt his eyes flickering despite his best efforts to stay awake. His outburst had drained him of whatever energy he had left and he knew he was seconds away from falling asleep. He sagged against the pillows.

"Johnny?"

"Yeah?"

"Find Scott."

He was asleep as soon as he said it, not witnessing the helpless expression on his brother's face.

"I'll try," John whispered, too late for Virgil to hear him. He pulled his bag onto his lap, fishing out his laptop. He had meant what he had told his brother; he had been trying to find Scott but to no avail.

But he had to keep trying, for his own peace of mind.

And for Virgil.