The duct tape around his wrists and across his chest proved to be problematic, but Killian Jones loved a challenge. True, he'd prefer if his challenges didn't come at the expense of being locked in a room and beaten at his captors' whims, but beggars and choosers and all that. He didn't have a choice; Liam had been captured as well and Killian needed to find him. He needed to get his brother out.

Why Liam was there was a little fuzzy; Killian was pretty sure that last blow to the head had knocked a few memories loose, but he knew one thing for certain. Liam wasn't a field agent, was far more comfortable behind a desk. And that's where he would have been if Killian had been faster, smarter, better. If he hadn't gotten sloppy and gotten himself captured.

If the bastards from Al-whatever in God's name their faction called themselves did anything to Liam, anything, he'd never forgive himself.

He could feel the blood trickling down his wrists and making the shard of glass he'd managed to snag slippery. Killian almost lost his grip on it, but sliced his finger open trying to hold on. If he lost this, if he couldn't get enough of a tear in the tape to get free, he'd never be able to save Liam.

But wait…

Wasn't Liam coming for him? Wasn't Liam the one who was going to save him? Killian shook his head against the confusion. Yes, that was right. He had to get free so that when Liam came, they could escape.

Right?

Regardless, the tape gave way and Killian was able to free himself from the chair. He switched the shard of glass to rest between his fingers where it would cause his captors the worst damage as he punched, and limped to the door.

Everything should have hurt. He had bruises on top of lacerations on top of burns. He wasn't entirely sure why everything seemed muted, more like memory than reality, but he ignored it. He had to get free. He had to find Liam.

Liam was there, wasn't he?

He'd barely made it to the door when it opened abruptly, two men in the doorway who looked as shocked as he felt.

He didn't have time to think, only acted. Killian launched himself forward and tackled one of the men, punching him in the throat with the glass and grimacing at the warm spray of blood that signified a messy death.

It was the only victory he could claim. A metal pipe crashed down on his back and stunned him. It was enough for his remaining attacker to lay into him, punching and kicking until it was all Killian could do to curl in a ball and protect his head and vital organs.

The cattle prod came out next, finding all the places Killian already hurt and lighting them aflame. He tried to hold back, tried to bite through his lip rather than crying out, but when the prongs dug into the sluggishly bleeding wound in his side, he couldn't help it.

"Liam! Help me! Please!"

Something was shaking him now, and it added insult to injury. He tried to curl away from that, too, but he couldn't get away. It seemed that his whole world was shaking, lighting up every hurt.

And then he heard it.

"Killian! Wake up!"

Liam.

He wanted to wake up, wanted to escape for this nightmare of memories that had him trapped. But he couldn't.

"Killian!"

He was able to crack one eye open, the other still swollen shut under the bandage Whale had wrapped over the badly-healing gunshot graze that Liam had believed killed him. He could remember the grief in Liam's eyes in the moments before he'd realized his little brother was alive. He'd been able to see it in the slump of Liam's shoulders and the sluggishness of his movements.

And then he'd collapsed in front of his big brother and Liam had been inconsolable.

The morphine was the only thing that let Killian sleep for a few hours at the time, but the distorted memories that they forced him to relive in his dreams almost weren't worth it.

"Killian?" his brother's soft whisper flitted through the memories and grounded him in reality.

It was only then that Killian realized he was cocooned in Liam's embrace, sobbing into his shirt.

Bloody hell.

He needed to stop relying on the meds. He needed to stop scaring his brother.

He needed them both to heal.

"I'm right here, little brother. You're safe now. I'll keep you safe," Liam was muttering frantically in Killian's ear, and he was chagrined to realize that he needed the reassurance. "Don't worry. You're home, little brother. You're home with me. God, you're home with me. It's all right. I've got you."

He managed a weak nod, tucking his head further under Liam's chin just like he'd done when they were small. It hurt, every movement he made was like he was being tortured all over again. But Liam needed this even more than he, himself, did.

Liam was drinking. Killian could smell it on him and while he didn't blame him for it, it still scared him. Their father had been a drunk and had abandoned them.

Killian needed Liam more than ever.

But that was a battle he couldn't manage right now. Not now when he couldn't imagine doing anything to upset the balance between them. Liam was the only thing keeping him here, in the present where he knew he was safe.

The morphine was a necessary evil, but Killian was terrified every time he took it. Terrified that what he had here wasn't real, and that he was still trapped in that hellhole, waiting for them to realize that he was too much a liability. Waiting for them to actually kill him before he got a chance to escape. To come home to Liam.

"I've got you, little brother," Liam muttered again, and Killian nodded - sleepy now and fading fast. He wanted to rail against the nickname, remind Liam that he was only younger, not little any longer. But he couldn't. Not now, not when he wanted nothing more than to just be Liam Jones's little brother, nothing more.

Nothing less.

"Sleep, Killian, I've got your six."

Killian obeyed the order.