Liam had always heard that his life would 'flash before his eyes' in the moments before he died, but he was swiftly learning that the same applied when it was Killian, cold and still and not breathing in the snow. He saw his little brother swaddled in blue behind the window of a hospital nursery, then curled against their mother's chest in their tiny flat - ill with a fever and hoarsely begging for another story. Then he was teaching Killian to ride a bike, their mother long passed on and their father 'too busy' to do much of anything with the boys. He saw Killian's first goal in football, his first heartbreak after a school dance, his patented smirk when he tossed his graduation cap in the air.
He saw that same smirk, turned into a look of pure relief, when Liam put a bullet in his chest instead of over his shoulder - when he felt Gold fall away from him, dead before he hit the ground.
He saw his little brother's blood staining the snow.
He saw Emma Swan leaning over his brother to pinch his nose shut and breathe for him again and again. His brother was dead. His little brother - the boy he'd raised and the man he'd been so proud of every day - was dead. Killian was gone and it was all his fault.
Liam crawled, his arms weak and shaky, his legs nearly useless with the adrenaline and the goddamned neurotoxin coursing through him. He had to get to Killian's side; he had to see-
"Liam! Get back!" Emma shouted harshly in his ear, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and yanking him off balance, away from Killian.
He snarled at her, trying to tear away and get to his brother. He needed to-
The whoomp of the defibrillator stopped Liam from actually trying to assault Emma if it would get her to let him go. He turned startled, terrified eyes on her, pleading silently for her - or anyone - to tell him that this was a nightmare. Just a bad dream that he'd wake up from any moment.
"One and two and three and…"
Not a nightmare then.
His little brother's heart had stopped beating.
Liam was almost positive that his had done the same.
Then David was there, taking over for Emma and pulling Liam back towards the stairs. "Let them work, Jones. Let them do their jobs," he murmured in Liam's ear over and over.
"David," his voice broke, not even sure what he meant to say as he crumpled in on himself, wrapping his arms around his knees and crying into his soaking wet jeans.
He heard the defibrillator go off again, didn't have to look to see Killian's limp body arch with the electricity flowing through him, and heard the paramedics push more medications and start CPR again. God, they were doing so much damage to his little brother and what was the point? Didn't they know that Liam had killed him? That he had weighed the odds of his brother's life in his hands and rolled the dice.
Had come up snake eyes.
But then there was a flurry of activity, people moving in a blur around his brother and, suddenly, Killian wasn't lying in the snow any more. He was strapped to a board and being taken away and Liam didn't understand what was happening, didn't understand why they were taking his brother away from him.
"There's a suitable landing site half a mile from here, we can transfer him there."
"His vitals are thready… don't know how long we can keep him stable."
"Whoever shot him sure didn't do him any favors."
"We need to move. Now."
Liam heard the clipped conversation, but it didn't really filter through. Not until one of the men looked over to where he was still collapsed against David's side.
"He okay?" the medic asked, moving towards the cabin and away from the pair of men carrying Killian away.
He felt David nod, his partner's hand tight on Liam's shoulder. "Nothing you can do for him; he's just gotta ride it out."
Liam saw the look on the medic's face, knew the picture he must be making, shaking like a strung-out addict who had waited too long between fixes. He didn't care.
He just wanted his brother.
And couldn't have him. The medics were nearly over the hill now, too far for Liam to even think about catching up. He'd have to get David to get the snowmobile just to get him to the truck, he'd never make it on his own two feet. Killian didn't have that kind of time.
By some miracle - or probably a conversation he had managed to miss - Mills was already pulling up on the machine. Liam didn't question it, just threw himself onto the back and held onto the kid as tightly as he was able. It seemed as though it took an eternity to get around the cabin and to the main path and Liam was sure that the ambulance would be long gone by the time they got to what passed for a road.
The flashing red lights reflected off the snow and ice in a nearly blinding display. Liam stumbled off the snowmobile, intent on making his way inside the back of the bus before it left, only to be stopped by Emma's hand on the center of his chest.
"They can only take one of us in the helicopter, Jones. And I need to keep him safe."
I need to keep him safe. The words echoed in Liam's ears, stabbing him repeatedly with each syllable and what she hadn't said - I need to keep him safe because clearly you can't - was nothing he wasn't already thinking. He'd failed to keep Killian safe. He'd failed when his little brother needed him so badly to be the man Killian had idolized for years. He'd failed to even make one bloody shot that would have ended Killian's suffering at Gold's hands rather than prolonging his pain until... until...
God, his heart stopped beating.
But it rankled all the same - I need to keep him safe - that was his job. Had been since the moment their mother had carefully placed Killian in Liam's arms and showed him how to support the baby's head.
"Keep him safe, Liam. He's your little brother and it's your job to make sure he's safe."
Mama had wanted that for them more than anything else in the world, and Liam had learned how to do just that. And now...
And now Killian was speeding away in an ambulance, clinging to life, and Liam wasn't there to watch over him. Emma was, as if she were the better person for the job.
Right now she is, you bloody fool, he castigated himself, replaying the moment Killian's knees had buckled and he'd collapsed into the snow, still smiling.
Liam's hands started to shake harder.
David came up behind him, a hand squeezing his shoulder in support, but Liam shrugged him off. He didn't want the support right now. He didn't deserve the support right now. Not when he'd caused all of this.
If Gold weren't dead on the floor of the forest with the bullet that may have ended Killian's life as well embedded in his damned heart, Liam would have killed him again.
"Jones, come on. I'll take you to the hospital," David ordered, his hand coming up to support Liam by the elbow when his knees nearly gave out. "Mills is going to secure the scene."
Liam blinked, the world starting to sway around him. He needed to sit down. There was no fight left in him as David guided him into the truck, his hand held out expectantly for Liam's keys. Wordlessly, Liam dug them out of his pocket and nearly dropped them - David only just managing to snag them in midair with an understanding smile.
Liam hated that smile.
He didn't want understanding. He didn't want David's sympathy. He wanted...
He wanted his brother.
God, he'd killed the only person who had ever really given a damn about him.
Logically, Liam knew that wasn't true - David's bloody infuriating smile was proof of that - but it didn't change what had happened. And it didn't change how alone in the world Liam would be if his little brother... if he...
"What happened, Liam?" David asked quietly and Liam jumped. They were on the highway already, miles away from the cabin. "We were already on the way when Emma called, but she was sketchy on the details."
"I shot him," Liam repeated, holding on to the stabbing feeling of shame. He deserved it. Deserved that and so much more. "I shot Killian."
It was all David would get out of him in the hours it took to get back to the city and through downtown traffic to MGH.
He didn't remember getting out of the truck. He didn't remember how he got through the emergency room. He didn't remember how or when or why he was sitting in a room by himself with an IV stuck in his arm and no one to tell him what to do now, where to go, how to deal with all of this.
So he did what he did best. He went to find his brother.
The sting in the crook of his elbow as the IV tore from his skin was an annoyance that Liam ignored. The blood that oozed down his arm and dripped from his fingers didn't register as he made his way down the hall. He'd been in this hospital enough times over the years to know the way. His brother was in one of three places and Liam knew them all intimately - a surgical theater where he couldn't go, the ICU which could prove problematic, but not impossible, to sneak into, or...
Or the morgue.
Liam clung to the bits of conversation that he'd overheard between the medics - keep him stable, vitals are thready, landing site. They didn't medevac corpses. Emma wouldn't have needed to protect Killian if he were already gone.
The fact that Liam turned resolutely away from the path to the basement in favor of heading towards the ICU had nothing to do with his sheer inability to see his little brother laid out on a slab in the morgue, no it did not. It was purely logistics - and he'd take that to his grave.
He's breathing. It wasn't much in the way of text messages, nothing about Killian's status or if he'd crashed again or if the doctors had any inclination of Killian's chances of survival. Liam didn't even know when Emma had sent the message, didn't know if any one of a thousand things had gone wrong in the interim.
But it was everything. Everything. His little brother was breathing. He was alive.
For now.
No one questioned him as he made his way down the hall and into the elevator. He was a little surprised that David hadn't been waiting with him, but he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth, either. His partner would have tried to make him stay in the room, would have wanted him to finish whatever was in the damned IV before he found Killian.
Liam would have felt a little bit badly if he'd had to punch David in the face. Probably.
Eventually.
He was pretty sure.
It took a bit longer than he'd like, but Liam eventually managed to shadow someone closely enough to bypass the security door to the ICU. Finally inside, he found it laughably easy to figure out Killian's room number and make his way down the hall. He could hear David's voice from a waiting room, dripping with authority as he ordered someone about, but he didn't stray close enough to make out the words. He didn't have time to argue with Nolan about what he was doing; someone had to see to Killian.
He needed to see Killian.
The door to his brother's room was guarded. Mills and an officer Liam didn't recognize both stood outside the closed door, holsters unsnapped and eyes sharp.
"You going to stop me from going inside?" he asked Mills when the man he didn't recognize looked ready to draw down on him.
Good.
They shouldn't hesitate to protect his brother from anyone. Least of all, him.
Maybe especially him.
"N-No, sir," Henry said hesitantly, gaze darting down the hall as if he could will David to come to his rescue. "But aren't you supposed to be-"
"I'm supposed to be right here, lad."
Henry nodded, to Liam and then to the officer next to him, who finally lowered his hand from the butt of his weapon. "Detective Swan is inside; she put up a hell of a fight when they tried to make her leave."
Part of Liam sagged in relief. Someone had been with Killian when he couldn't; his little brother hadn't been alone. That was good. That was right. She hadn't shot him, not like Liam had. Emma should be there.
He shouldn't.
Squaring up his shoulders, Liam pushed past Henry and opened the door to Killian's room. Emma jumped from the chair, her hand halfway to her holster before she recognized who had entered. Her eyes flashed with something he didn't want to put a name to, but she sat back down without a word, her eyes trained on his brother's chest.
God, Killian looked... he looked small. Liam routinely poked fun of Killian for his smaller stature despite, or rather because of, his brother's reaction to it. He hadn't truly thought of Killian as 'little' in quite some time. Not like this. There were so many machines surrounding Killian, so many wires, so many layers of gauze wrapped around his chest. All of it dwarfed his younger brother's slight frame and made him seem... just so small. So vulnerable.
Liam thought he should be shaking, but he was frozen, one hand still on the door handle and the other reaching out as if he were trying to grasp Killian's hand from across the room. There was a tube down his brother's throat, the whoosh of the ventilator echoing through the room in some macabre kind of harmony with the beeping of the heart monitor.
"I thought you said he was breathing," Liam whispered, not sure if he'd spoken loudly enough to cross the room.
Emma didn't look up, but she matched his tone. "He was."
The ventilator whooshed again and again, seeming to mock Liam as he stared at Killian's still form. He'd done this. He'd shot his little brother. He'd put him in the goddamned ICU with a tube down his throat and wires and tubes snaking who knew where.
Liam had done this.
He looked away from his brother then. Caught a glimpse of himself in the reflection of the window that hid the storm brewing outside - a storm that mirrored his own emotions. Tears tracked down his cheeks and cut a line through the streak of Killian's blood that Liam must have smeared there at some point. His eyes were haunted, lost, alone. Liam looked… he looked far better than his brother did. It should be him in that hospital bed; not Killian. But he was. He was lying still and silent in a bed that - in other circumstances - Killian would be complaining was doing a number on his back. But not now.
Liam didn't realize he'd retreated from the room until his back hit the wall opposite his brother's room and Mills was asking if he was okay.
Okay? Liam didn't even understand the meaning of the word any more. His knees turned to jelly and he slid down the wall, wrapping his arms around his legs and shivering. He could hear noises around him, could feel a hand on his shoulder shaking him slightly, could smell the antiseptic of whatever they'd used to clean the floors, but all he could see was his brother lying in that bed clinging to life.
No one should look that shade of pale, have that many machines around them, have a bloody tube down their throat just to goddamned breathe. It just didn't seem possible that who he'd seen in there could ever possibly be his little brother again. He'd killed him. He'd killed Killian.
"Liam?" Emma's voice rang through the hallway, her boots coming to a stop just beyond his own.
"God, what are you doing out here?" he asked incredulously, his voice barely a croak. Liam was a bit surprised to realize he'd even spoken out loud.
She hunkered down in front of him and it was all he could do to keep himself from shoving her away.
"What happened out there?"
Liam just shook his head sadly, curling into a smaller ball and relishing the pull of muscles that protested the movement. "I shot him. I… I shot my brother."
"I know that, Liam. You nearly killed him. But what I don't know is why." Emma reached out and wrapped a hand his forearm, her grip nearly bruising in its intensity. "I need to know what happened."
Liam tore his arm away, a snarl dying on his lips before he could tell her where she could shove her curiosity. He couldn't be angry at her; not when she was right. He'd nearly killed Killian. He still might have killed his brother.
Instead of firing back at her, Liam just sighed and rested his forehead on his arms. "I shot him."
"Liam!" she nearly shouted, and then shook him when he refused to look up at her.
He just shrugged, eyes stinging as he replayed the moment Killian had dropped to his knees and then slumped down into the snow. Why didn't matter anymore, not with Gold dead and enough officers in the hospital that Hades wouldn't try anything here. He'd shot Killian.
He'd failed.
"Hey," she said gently, and it hurt even more than when she was yelling at him. "Liam, look at me."
"Don't do that," he whispered into his knees. "Don't treat me like a witness; like a victim. I don't deserve it. I shot my brother."
Emma squeezed his knee, her thumb soothing over his jeans in a repetitive pattern. "I know you did, and we can't change that. But he's in there and he's fighting to come back to us. He's fighting, Liam, and he needs us to be strong for him now. Do you want to come sit with him?"
Liam shook his head, his eyes squeezed shut even though he couldn't see anything but the tile between his shoes. No, he couldn't go sit with Killian, he didn't deserve the comfort of seeing his little brother fighting.
"Okay," she whispered, squeezing his knee again. "I'm gonna go back in, but I'll leave the door open for you. For when you're ready to be strong for him."
"I don't deserve that," he whispered even more quietly than she had.
"Maybe not," Emma agreed, and he could hear the reproach in her tone. "But he does."
Liam didn't know when Emma left him, the door to his brother's room propped open just enough that he could see her curled up on a chair next to Killian's bedside. She wasn't touching his brother, though he could see from the tense set of her shoulders and the way her fingers twitched that she wanted to. The beeping of the heart monitor echoed in his ears, steady and sure enough that Liam let it wash over him. Killian was still here, he was still holding on stubbornly, he was still fighting.
Liam wished he could do the same.
There was still so much blood. His hands were covered in it and he couldn't get it off, couldn't get it out from his nail beds. Even his undershirt was stiff with his little brother's blood, his flannel shirt left behind outside the cabin - saturated with blood, too.
"You know, Jones," David's voice carried down the hall, "I left you in that hospital room because you needed to be there. Not sitting on the floor of the ICU making the rookies uncomfortable."
"This one's twitchy," he managed, nodding his head towards the officer without taking his eyes off the scarlet stains on his fingers. There was just so much blood.
"So were you," David replied without missing a beat. Liam tore his eyes from Killian's blood long enough to glare at him fiercely. His hands trembled around his jeans, making Liam clutch at his knees to try and lessen the spasms. That prompted David to quickly add, "Your first day on the job. You remember? Your head was on a damn swivel in the line at Dunks?"
"There was an armed robbery there not five minutes later!" he shot back hotly, but his ire at what seemed to be a thoughtless quip cooled quickly. God, they'd been young then. Not quite as young as the kid standing across from him, he was sure, but young.
"Lucky coincidence. At least you got your coffee before we had to haul that idiot in," David whined. "I didn't get a caffeine hit for another six hours after that."
"I know what you're doing," Liam pointed out, turning to stare once more at what he could see of Killian's form.
David sighed. "Aren't you going in? I know Emma's in there, but Jasmine wouldn't say anything about the visitation requirements, you know that."
Liam just shook his head. "I shot him, David," he whispered, ignoring the sharp twinge in his chest at the admission.
"There is no way you-"
"I shot him!" he shouted, not wanting the sympathy.
Twitchy startled, his hand shooting to his holster again. He looked as though he was contemplating reaching for his handcuffs as well. David waved the officer off, moving to stand in front of Liam's feet.
"I know," he said softly. "I know that, Jones. But I also know that wasn't your intention. I know that if you'd had any other choice, you wouldn't have taken the shot. So why did you?"
Liam just shrugged, turning his attention back to the blood caked on his hands. "I shot him."
"All right, Jones," David said in resignation, "we'll come back to that. Mary Margaret brought you some clean clothes; let's get you off the floor."
Liam didn't move, didn't even hear him, caught up once again replaying those moments that felt like hours outside the cabin. Killian's smile, his choked cry of pain, the look of relief, the fear.
The 'thank you' he'd muttered before surrendering to unconsciousness.
Liam shut his eyes again, caught up in the childish desire to block everything out by any means necessary. He managed to stop himself from clapping his hands over his ears, but only just. He'd have pinched himself to wake up if he weren't painfully aware that this was no nightmare, at least not the kind he'd startle himself out of and find himself in bed, sweating and trembling.
There was no waking up from this horror.
"Come on, Liam," David tried again, tugging on Liam's arm to get him to stand. He managed it - but barely. "You're scaring the nurses and the rooks. There's a bathroom just inside Killi-"
Liam balked, pulling his arm out of David's grasp and stumbling backwards until he hit the wall again. His eyes were wild and his breath was coming in short gasps. He couldn't go in there; he wouldn't. He didn't deserve to… to…
"Easy, Jones, easy. Calm down, okay?"
He was shaking again, shivering and trembling in some chaotic combination of shock and the bloody neurotoxin. He couldn't stop, he couldn't calm down, he-
"Jones!" David ordered and Liam nearly leapt to attention. He could follow orders, he'd been doing it for the better part of his life. "Take your shirt off."
Killian would have snarked something about buying him dinner first. Mills looked around as if he were being personally scandalized. Twitchy snickered under his breath.
Liam took off his shirt.
Goosebumps rose on his forearms and chest within seconds, the temperature in the hospital just a little too cold to be comfortable. He held the stained and stiff cotton in his hands, staring at the dark, dried blood. There were streaks where he'd wiped his hands, splatters where Killian's blood had-
"Put this on, Jones. Now." David sounded like the drill sergeant they'd had at the Academy.
Liam dropped the undershirt in order to take the soft hoodie that David thrust into his hands. It wasn't anything he owned, but it didn't matter. It was soft and warm and clean. He slipped into it, the hood falling over his eyes and blocking his view of Killian. Liam whipped it back, nearly tearing his hair in his quest to glimpse his brother again.
Killian was still there, he was still alive, he was still… still. Liam's knees sagged, his breath leaving him in a painful whoosh as he slid back down the wall in a boneless heap. His hands were still enclosed in the arms of the sweatshirt and he shoved the material up his forearms violently, staring at the dark red that covered his fingers and palms.
Killian's blood.
Liam started picking at it, watching the flakes fall away from his fingerprints in miniscule chunks. He started to scratch at his nails, trying to rid himself of the blood embedded in the quick of his fingers. He rubbed his palms together, frantically trying to create enough friction to wipe them clean, get rid of the stiffness that pulled at his skin, the evidence that he'd failed so utterly.
It wouldn't disappear.
Liam continued, devolving from carefully calculated ministrations to frenzied scratching, digging his nails into his skin to lift away the stains and pulling fresh blood to the surface as he did so.
"Jones, what are you- hey, stop that! Liam!" David admonished as he knelt at Liam's side, brandishing a pack of Wet Ones he must have reappropriated from the nurses' station. Or maybe Mary Margaret had sent them. That seemed like the kind of thing she would do.
Liam didn't fight when his partner slapped one hand away from the other, watching with detachment as David started to clean away the blood. Killian's blood. He barely felt the sting from the fresh abrasions. The wipes were cold, sending tremors up his arms and making him tense. He needed to stay calm, he needed to be here. He needed to keep Killian safe.
Bloody marvelous job you made of that, you fool.
The paleness of his skin began to peek through the ruddy stains and Liam couldn't look away. David was washing away the blood, as if he could wash away the sins Liam had committed that easily. He'd shot Killian. He'd shot his little brother.
The pile of stained wipes grew as David turned his hands over and over, making sure he'd gotten all of the blood and pressing down firmly against one of the oozing scrapes where Liam had dug too deeply. So much blood, all of it mixed together as if they weren't already blood brothers.
Blood brothers. Liam smirked a little in spite of himself.
Killian had been young, maybe six or seven, when he'd watched that bloody television show where the girls had insisted on becoming 'blood brothers' - only they used ketchup. Killian had insisted that they should do the same and no amount of explaining that they were already related by blood would persuade him.
I know, Liam. But Billy said that they might not always be able to keep us together. We have to do this so you won't forget me if you get a real family.
He'd thought it was ridiculous. They were brothers. He couldn't forget Killian, and it wasn't like they'd be separated anyway - Liam wouldn't let that happen. But Killian had gotten more and more insistent, starting to shout with tears checked in the corners of his eyes, and Liam had relented. Their foster father downstairs wouldn't take too kindly to the noise and while their living situation wasn't ideal, they were together. That was what was important.
So he'd filched a pocket knife out of the man's dresser, led Killian into the hall bathroom where the first aid kit was, and made a thin slice on the pad of his little brother's finger. There was a matching scar - white and long since healed but never forgotten - on his own finger that Liam ran his thumb over incessantly, now, and the deed was done. Killian had said some over the top vow that had long been lost to the ether where memories flitted off to, Liam had repeated the words, and before he could press an alcohol wipe to his little brother's finger, their foster mother had come in the room and started screeching about how he was abusing Killian.
It had taken nearly six months for him to finally convince the social worker that he'd keep wreaking more and more havoc wherever they sent him if they didn't give him his brother back. One look at the terror on his little brother's face being replaced by utter relief proved to Liam that he'd never let them be separated again.
Until now.
Blood brothers.
It was a ridiculous thought, but he pressed his thumb harder against the old scar, begging and pleading in his head.
We're blood brothers, Killian. Please don't forget me. Don't leave. Come back to me.
Out of habit, Liam ran the sharp edge of his thumbnail over the scar, wishing for a penknife or a paperclip or something sharp to open the wound once more. The pain had helped in those long months apart as kids - reopening the wound again and again to remind himself that Killian was out there, was scared, was alone. But that Liam would find him. He shook his head and forced himself to stretch out his fingers, grasping his thumb in his other hand and holding on tightly. Killian was right there, in that room, being watched over by someone who could keep him safe.
David pressed a steaming styrofoam cup into his hands and nearly growled when Liam just set it down between his feet. He didn't want the caffeine, he didn't want the warmth. He just wanted to start the day over and… and… he didn't even know what he could have done differently other than get far away from his brother.
"I should leave," he muttered under his breath, his heart stuttering and clenching sharply as the thought that had been circling his head for what felt like hours was finally said out loud. "I don't deserve to be here."
"Like hell you don't!" David shouted vehemently, a hand raised in supplication at the ire in a passing nurse's glare. He lowered his voice, but the ire was still just as apparent. "He's your brother, damnit. If there's anyone in the world who deser-"
"The person who put him in that room doesn't deserve to be within a hundred yards of him!" Liam whispered back fiercely, mindful of the nurse who was not so slyly watching them, clearly waiting for an invitation to have them removed from the unit.
"You shot him? Your own brother?" Mills asked incredulously, his eyes going wide as he came around the corner. "Why?"
"Henry!" David hissed, and the kid's eyes went even wider at the clear rebuke. A blush of shame colored his cheeks, but the damage had already been done.
Liam felt as though he were falling apart at the seams, the stitches he'd used to keep his heart from shattering completely not up to the task. He'd shot Killian. He'd shot his own brother.
He just shrugged at Henry, his shoulders rising with certainty and falling shakily as he clutched at his knees harder and tried to curl into an impossibly smaller ball of self-loathing. He was so cold, the tile beneath him and the plaster at his back doing nothing to insulate him from his own thoughts. From the memories. From the terrifying knowledge that for as long as he'd been trying to keep Killian safe, he'd made a right mess of it in mere minutes.
Killian still might die, and there was nothing he could do about it.
It seemed like hours or maybe seconds later when he felt the familiar weight of a blanket falling over his shoulders. It was warm and soft and comforting - it was everything he didn't want at the moment. He shrugged it off insistently, barely aware of the sound of it hitting the linoleum.
Then it was back around him, tugged there just as insistently as he'd gotten rid of it. So he balled it up in his hands, his fingers tight in the material to still the tremors. David made a huff of indignation but Liam didn't care. He threw the blanket across the hallway with as much effort as he could muster.
"For the love of- you're freezing, Jones."
"Don' care," he mumbled into his jeans.
David sighed. "You might not care, but I do. Just take the damn blanket."
There was something in David's tone - not quite an order, more like a plea - that made Liam's head shoot up. He nodded wordlessly, leaning forward until the blanket was settled and then collapsing back against the wall. He didn't like it, he didn't want it there, but David did and sometimes that was more important.
"He's gonna be all right, you know?" David muttered, still crouched at Liam's side. The words were right, but the tone wasn't and Liam could tell that he didn't believe it, either. Not with the machines and the breathing tube doing all of the work to keep him alive.
David couldn't do that right now; Liam couldn't handle the platitudes and the false hope and the dreams that maybe Killian might come back to him.
That he might deserve his brother's forgiveness.
That Killian would grant it wasn't in question. Liam knew that his brother wouldn't see fault in what he had done. Would be more concerned with how Liam felt about him getting shot than with how much damage he had to heal from. And that was if…
"I need some time," he muttered to David, ignoring the tightening in his chest when he thought about being left alone. "Please?"
David nodded reluctantly, standing with a distinct popping sound coming from his knees that would have made Liam laugh under other circumstances. "I'm going to check on the security detail and double check that the surveillance feeds are working. But I'll be back, Jones."
Liam just nodded, turning his head away from the sympathy in David's eyes and keeping vigil over his brother's room. He didn't know how long he sat there, ignoring the confused and sympathetic stares from Killian's guards. It felt like all of him had gone numb, and not just from the cold tile he was sitting on. There was only one time that he could remember when Killian wasn't in his life and he wouldn't relive those six months for anything. But at least he'd known that Killian was alive, that he was out there somewhere. He couldn't remember a time before Killian had been his little brother, didn't know what to do if he wasn't a big brother. Didn't know how to-
Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.
Liam's heart stopped. That was coming from Killian's room.
He stood up in spite of himself, ignoring the pull of muscles and the popping of his own joints as he moved by rote towards the wailing alarms coming from his little brother's bedside. Distantly, he thought he heard David's voice echoing down the hall, but it was muffled by Emma's shouts and that damned alarm.
Killian's heart monitor.
Flatline.
Liam paused in the doorway, the terror that gripped his heart mirrored on Emma's face. She was stark white, paler even than his brother lying in the bed behind her. The monitors were screaming, but he couldn't hear them any more. Emma was saying something, grabbing him by the hand, but he couldn't. He couldn't see Killian like that, not when his brother was-
"Move!" someone shouted in his ear and, when all he could do was turn to gape at them, they shoved him out of the way.
Liam stumbled, going down hard on his knees and relishing the pain that shot through him with the hard contact. He managed to turn himself over and lean against the wall, tremors and shivers wracking his frame as he turned his ear towards the door. He could hear the door slam shut, but he was close enough now to hear the terse commands, the wailing of the monitors, Emma's unanswered questions, her shouts of terrified alarm.
He heard the defibrillator, the tones of voices, the protocols that the doctors were following to try and save Killian. But it was too late. Wasn't it already enough? Too much? Shouldn't they just let his brother be?
The monitor continued to beep tonelessly, endlessly. Every second that it wailed sent another tendril of terror snaking down Liam's spine. He'd just lost his brother. He had lost Killian and it was all his fault.
Liam just stared blankly down the hall from where he'd fallen, unable to focus, to process what was going on behind that door. He barely felt it when David helplessly sank down next to him, his arm tight around Liam's shoulders as they awaited whatever the Fates had in store for Killian's lifeline. Whether they'd reached the end of his thread or if they'd cut it in punishment for Liam's faults.
Still flatline.
Liam couldn't see the monitor, could only hear it. But it didn't matter - he knew what it meant. He didn't know what else it could be other than his brother's body finally giving up the fight. He'd done this. He'd shot his brother and now he'd have to bury him. Full dress uniform and full honors from the department and Liam would be… he'd have to make all the arrangements.
Would Killian have wanted lilies or orchids at his funeral?