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!"

Killian woke with a start, sheets tangled around his aching body and his heart in his throat. Only when his fingers curled around the barrel of the gun that always rested underneath his pillows did he finally relax.

He was home.

He'd made it, despite all the odds and the injuries and the distance, back to Boston and to Liam.

Where is the old Mother Hen, anyway?

Killian wasn't afraid to admit (to himself, under his breath, hidden in the darkness of the room and buried under the assurance that no one else would find out) that waking up without Liam right there - hand circled around his ankle and whispering that Killian was safe, that he was right there - was mildly terrifying.

He wanted Liam.

He needed his big brother to chase away the monsters - far more real now than the ones of his childhood, hiding in the dark corners of this room or that - and to remind Killian that he was home.

Killian needed to lean on Liam's strength at the moment, and he wasn't too proud to go searching for it. Grabbing the old blanket from the end of his bed, Killian wrapped the ends around his shoulders and padded (limped) to the door. It wasn't too far to Liam's room, and despite how grown they were, he knew his brother wouldn't mind.

The door to Liam's room was wide open, the darkness within not enough to show Killian that his brother wasn't there.

Where did Liam go?

…

God, was his brother all right?

Killian turned in a circle, debating going back for the weapon he'd left under his pillow when he noticed the light from downstairs.

Oh.

Liam was just downstairs. That was probably why he hadn't been in Killian's room. It was probably time for more of those Godforsaken pills that Whale had Liam shoving down his throat. Or maybe Liam just needed a drink, or was refilling the glass he'd kept religiously filled and waiting on Killian's bedside.

Didn't matter, Killian still needed to see his brother.

The stairs were a bit more trouble than he'd counted on, leaving him winded and sore when he finally made it to the landing. One hand clutched the banister, keeping him from sinking down to sit on the bottom step (he wasn't sure if he'd be able to stand again) and the other gripped the soft flannel pants just above his still-swollen knee.

Everything hurt.

But the kitchen was pitch black as well.

Liam?

Ah, there he was - the door to the office was just barely ajar, dim light spilling out into the hallway. Liam must have gotten involved in a conference call or a check in with one of his other men.

Killian would just peek in, reassure himself that his brother was there, and then - hopefully - make it back upstairs without triggering his brother's nursemaid alert.

It was a little surprising that they hadn't gone off as soon as Killian stuck his nose out his bedroom door.

What the bloody hell? Liam?

The only light in the room came from the desk lamp at Liam's elbow. It was enough to highlight the broken slump to Liam's shoulders, the empty tumbler clenched in his hand, the fifth of scotch balanced precariously on the edge of the desk.

The silvery tracks of tears coursing down Liam's cheeks.

Killian froze, caught between the absurd want to back slowly out of the room before his brother realized he'd been seen and the absolute need to tear across the office and destroy whatever or whoever was on the other side of the computer screen, breaking his brother like this.

"Liam?" he whispered, not entirely sure he'd be a welcome witness to his big brother's breakdown.

Liam's head shot up as if Killian had shouted.

"What…" Liam started, croaked, and had to try again. "What are you doing out of bed?"

Killian shook his head, brushing that off. What he needed wasn't important right now. He needed to fix his brother.

"Are you all right?"

Killian rolled his eyes - and almost didn't regret it - when they both spoke up together, the same question rolling off their tongues.

"I'm fine, Liam. What's going on?"

Since Liam wasn't shooing him out of the room, Killian risked limping the few feet to his brother's side. Liam's only response was to reach for the scotch, pouring more than a few fingers into the glass before it clunked back onto the desk. There, in all its technicolor glory, Killian saw what had broken his brother so thoroughly at four in the morning.

His face.

Or rather, a freeze frame - he saw the progress bar of the video at the bottom of the screen - of the moments before Killian thought he was going to be murdered on camera. The bag was still being ripped from his head, his eyes wide and frightened. There'd been a moment, he knew, before he'd been able to slam all of his defenses into place.

He just hadn't realized Liam had seen it.

God, no wonder he'd been so overprotective since Killian had gotten back. (Not that thinking your little brother was dead wasn't enough reason)

"Liam?"

It was like Liam had forgotten Killian was there, reaching out to hit play on the video again.

Killian did not need to relive those moments now - or ever - thank you very much.

"Don't do this to yourself, brother," he pleaded, sinking down to kneel at Liam's hip despite the fire that erupted from his knee and his back. Killian laid his hand on Liam's, wrapping his fingers around the trembling palm before he could reach the touchpad. "I'm right here."

Liam resisted, trying to reach for the laptop despite the obstacle in front of him.

"Liam," Killian begged, "Liam, stop this. I'm here. I'm right here, brother. I'm not there."

Liam shuddered, but he stopped fighting. "But you're not. God, Killian, part of you is still there. And I'm still not entirely sure that all of you isn't there. That this, that you aren't just a figment of my goddamned imagination here to torment me."

"Liam, I'm home," Killian assured softly, his free hand wrapping around the back of his brother's neck and squeezing gently.

"And the next time?" Liam asked, the liquor loosening his tongue. "The next time I send you off to die-"

Killian risked untangling his hand from Liam's, closing the laptop with a definitive click and forcing his brother to look at him. "Then I'll come back home that time, too. And the time after that. I'm here, brother. I'm not leaving you."

Liam just looked at him, staring, trying to - Killian was sure - find the lie in the promise. Killian kept eye contact, moving more by feel than by visual clues as he peeled the tumbler of scotch out of his brother's hand and placing it on the floor by his knee.

His big brother was shaking now, the tears still streaming down his cheeks.

Killian had come downstairs looking for his brother to be his strength, but now it was his turn. He tugged at the back of Liam's neck, guiding his brother's face to his shoulder and wrapping both arms as tightly around Liam's back as he could.

Liam's own arms came tightly around Killian, fisting in the fleece blanket and pulling his brother closer. The first choked sob tore through Liam and burned through Killian, far more potent than any torture he'd suffered in the past. He'd done this. He'd frightened his brother this badly.

He had to be better in the future. Stronger, faster, more prepared.

He held Liam long after the sobs turned into sniffles and the sniffles turned into even breathing. The sun rose over the brothers as they healed in each other's sure presence.