Chapter Warnings: mild gore, mild-moderate language, semi-suicidal thoughts, withdrawal symptoms (including vomiting briefly), Special Note: The song selected for this chapter could probably be triggering at first to some people. It's specifically meant to be someone depressed and suicidal for the first two or so verses before someone else comes in to save them in the last verse. That's where this line comes from. I highly recommend it for whump imaging, but just wanted to warn anyone it has the potential to be triggery itself for those first few verses.

"From my lungs through the dark, spoken straight from the heart, let me give you a reason to stay…" Would Anyone Care (Citizen Soldier)

Murdock woke to silence and a throbbing pain in his leg and chest. Beyond that, he was only aware of the sweating and shaking that had taken control of his body. He was trembling from head to toe in a strange mimicry of the chair's shocks and sweat was making his hair stick to his forehead. His arms, face, neck and chest were all drenched uncomfortably in the wetness that soaked into the padding at his back. He didn't feel warm, though. In fact, his whole body felt chilled and the sweat only magnified the coolness, revealing new bursts of cold air every second as his limbs quaked and rocked, not staying still long enough to draw any warmth from the padded cloth floor.

Something was different about the room this time, though. It was brighter. A soft, warm, glow somewhere toward his feet was turning the world pink behind his eyelids instead of the heavy black of before. The only other time the room had been light was during his sessions when he'd been trapped in the chair. Memories of hellfire racing through his veins caused his breaths to quicken and the shaking increased. He could feel the strap binding his chest now, tight and oppressive. He was back in the chair; he had to be. Why else would they strap him down? Unless they had some new torture prepared. Either way it would end in pain and darkness… it always did.

Murdock tried to stay still and look like he was still asleep but the shakes running through him ruined his every effort. And the Devil wasn't one to be easily fooled. A cloth touched his face and he tried to pull away but the attempt at movement only resulted in an increase in the tremors which shook him like his own personal earthquake. There was no pain, none that he could feel at least. For all he knew, he was in agony but just too numb to feel or care. Numb uncaring had spread through him like venom since he'd lost them, dulling everything and leaving him with only the darkness. All he could feel was the dragging anchor of grief that had been chained to his heart, pulling him deeper into drowning shadows.

A drum thumped in his chest, increasing rapidly to a frenzied beat and Murdock realized his heart was pounding like he was terrified. He wasn't, though. He didn't care what the Devil did to him, so why was his heart hammering a staccato beat against his ribs, sending arcs of pale-blue pain through his mind? The tremors began to hurt then, shaking his leg and chest and pulling a groan from his lips. A voice spoke somewhere above him but Murdock ignored it. Let the Devil rant and rage and demand answers. He couldn't speak now even if he tried, the pain was too breathtakingly sharp.

Someone must've turned the chair up a notch because the vibrations running through him grew sharper. Murdock grimaced as he began to twist and squirm in a vain attempt to escape the pain that was sending stabbing lightning up his stiffened leg. Sweat covered him from head to toe, plastering his hair to his head and making his shirt stick to his chest as he strained against the strap that bound his ribs, feeling it give more than ever before. Maybe they'd loosened it thinking he'd be too weak to pull free. He probably was, but that didn't stop him from trying.

A hand rested on his chest, trying to still his restless movements and Murdock automatically fought back, tensing as he tried to push away from that hand. He felt suddenly sick and let his head fall to one side, throwing up bile and long-ago-swallowed blood on the padding beside him, not caring if the mess got on him or anyone else in the room. Gasping shakily through the tremors, Murdock felt the soft cloth again, this time at his lips, wiping away the sickness as a voice spoke again over his head, low and worried.

"He's getting worse! Isn't there anything else we can do?"

Face. It was Face's voice. The realization dragged a miserable moan past his aching throat. Couldn't the dreams leave him alone even for a little while? He couldn't handle hearing them again, so close and so worried, not while he felt like he was dying. They'd call him back, beg him not to leave and he'd obey… only to wake up to the Devil's eyes burning in the shadows and agony arcing through him. Strong hands lifted him briefly and the scent of vomit was replaced with the impersonal aura of cloth padding again.

"We jus' gotta wait it out, Faceman… aint' nothing more we can do but help him through, not if we want that damned doc's drug out of him for good." Bosco's deep rumble answered Face from further to Murdock's left as the softness moved to his brow, dabbing at the sweat that slid down his face, running across his cheeks like tears. Whatever Face said in reply was drowned out by the pounding in Murdock's ears as a sudden increase in the tremors at his leg doubled the fire burning at his senses. He wanted to scream but all his weak body could manage was a soft whimpering, a constant, pitiful sound that he couldn't help but loose with every breath. Voices spoke again but they didn't make any sense to him, fading in and out as the pounding in his ears grew and ebbed with the shocks.

"Bosco, he's awake! We can't just…"

"… can't give him anything, withdrawal doesn't work like that."
"... just make him suffer through all of…"

"Can't give… anything that might'a been in that doc's drug… make it worse."

"Pass me another cloth! His leg's bleeding…"

The shaking softened for a moment and Murdock's hearing cleared enough to catch Face's sharp curse. B.A. asked what was wrong but Face just swore again and pain flared briefly in Murdock's leg, making him flinch. The shudders had moved to his chest now, rattling his ribs and making his breaths come in stuttered gasps. He didn't even have enough energy to wrap his arms around his middle in an attempt to still some of the trembling. Instead, he was forced to lie there like a ragdoll while the earthquake inside him raged on. Face spoke again and Murdock didn't bother reminding himself that this wasn't really his Face… that this was really just a dream and Face was dead. He hurt too much for that now.

"Bosco, how many pins did the sisters take out yesterday?"

"Four, why?"

A frustrated groan preceded Face's reply of, "They missed one. The smallest one's still in there." It was Bosco's turn to curse now but Murdock didn't hear much more after that as his head joined the aching in his body, reducing his hearing again to scattered half-sentences.

"Boss, thank God you're…."

"… been real weak…. Keeps getting sick an'…."

"… have to do it when he's asleep. We can't risk leaving it in…"

"… can't give him anything for the pain!"

"We'll have to be quick. The infection can't be allowed to…"

"Come on, Murdock…"

"Hang in there, bro."

Time passed in a haze of Devil's session, broken only by brief moments of sleep between shocks until, at last, the trembling ebbed away and Murdock fell back into oblivion. He drifted for a time, a dreamless, aimless sort of sleep that did little to ease his exhaustion. It was nice, though. Dark but not too dark and nothing hurt. Of course, it couldn't last forever, and when one torture left, another took its place.

That was the nature of Hell.

Excruciating pain tore through the darkness, brightening the sky like lightning and wrenching him from his sleep. A strangled sound burst from his abused throat, animalistic and terrible in its desperation. It felt like a rusty blade was severing his leg, moving slowly and causing as much crippling agony as possible as it went.

"Holy sh- Hannibal!"

"Hold him still! Hurry, Sister!"

"No, go slow! Moving too fast could break it off inside!" Bosco's voice was strained and hurried but Murdock barely registered it. Restraints had clapped down on his legs and someone had pinned his arms, hands holding him still as he struggled to break free from the fiery blade. Murdock tried to fight harder, remembering the Gargoyles and their burning salt but the men holding him down were too strong. More powdered fire was ground into his leg and Murdock let out another short cry, feeling something in the wound shift sickeningly. The weight on his arms lifted, someone taking his face in their hands and Face's voice came again, sharp and frantic.

"Murdock! Murdock, listen to me! Focus on me, pal, come on!" Murdock tried to obey, desperate to focus on anything but the pain. A warm weight met his forehead and he managed to get his eyes opened halfway, a blurry image of Face's bright blue eyes swimming in his vision before his own eyes slipped shut again and pain howled with his voice. The hands on his face startled at the sound and began to shake where they held him.

"It's okay, Murdock! We're trying to help you! Just… Just try and focus on my voice, okay?" A choked tone had entered Face's voice and the dragging weight in Murdock's chest returned, adding heartache to hellfire and making tears stop up his throat. "Man… You're supposed to be asleep for this. Can't you go back to sleep? Please?" The last few words were whispered into Murdock's hair as Face's brow left Murdock's, the younger man's stubbled chin scratching against the bridge of the pilot's nose as he hid his trembling lips in the fringe of wild hair.

Another wrenching of the salted sawblade changed Murdock's every breath into a tattered cry; short, harsh and not enough to satisfy the endless agony that coursed through him.

"Murdock? You have to let go. Just for a little while, okay? You have to go back to sleep!"

Sleep was too impossibly gone for him to find again, veiled behind layer after layer of bone-deep agony. Murdock's hands came up, clutching at the first thing they found, Face's shoulders, and held on. He felt Face flinch as his nails dug into the t-shirt and the skin beneath but he couldn't loosen his hold. The lieutenant let out a huffing breath, probably looking down at him but Murdock wasn't sure. His eyes were shut so tightly he was seeing sparks and every inch of him was tense and shaking.

"Murdock, listen to me! You can't stay awake for this so please- please, God, let him sleep!"

Panting cries changed to wet, wretched sobs as Murdock's strength faded even as the pain grew. Trembling thumbs stroked each tear away as they fell, murmuring comforting somethings that he couldn't make out. Slowly but surely, the darkness was creeping up on his mind, but this time it wasn't soft or welcoming. It was too dark, too deep, too much like the shadows the Inklings had brought that had taken Bosco's body away. It was powerful and terrifying but maybe not such a bad thing after all. The only friends he had in the world were dead. It wouldn't be so horrible if he died too. If he did, at least he could be with them and maybe death would be soft and still and a place he could rest.

Murdock could feel himself falling into the blackness… his right arm dropped heavily to the padding as his strength dwindled away. His other hand slipped down the dream Face's arm, fingers fumbling for the ones that held him. Face's voice was garbled and distant now but Murdock could still hear the urgency in his friend's tone.

One more look, he thought, one last look before I go, so I can remember them in the dark.

Fighting exhaustion and pain, Murdock forced his eyes open again.

Face was there above him, looking more scared than the pilot had ever seen him. A hand left Murdock's face and met his searching fingers, holding on with a trembling strength. Murky shadows wavered at the edges of his vision as the hitching sobs in his throat began to fade, replaced by shuddering breaths that wheezed in his chest and caused the hand to tighten around his as his eyes slipped shut. Face's voice whispered above him, softer but with a hint of deep-seated fear.

"Just sleep, okay, Murdock? Nothing deeper… please." Face was asking him to stay. Murdock had known he would but now that the plea had been spoken, he found refusal harder than he'd expected. The pain was slowly fading to the back of his mind, someone beyond Face speaking hurriedly about being done and needing bandages. Murdock barely heard them, though, struggling as he was to choose between blessed release and staying in an effort to banish some of the fear from that voice.

He let out a sigh that for once wasn't riddled with pain and mentally shrugged off the clinging shadows, using every bit of his meager strength to push himself closer to shore and back into that comforting shade of slumber that promised gentle sleep without the fear of death. Relief swept through him as he reached the calm waters and the Inkling black vanished once more. He wouldn't go… not quite yet. It hurt him deeply to hear their voices, see them so close and so clear, when he knew they were dead but he just couldn't leave when they were calling him.

Murdock felt his breathing ease as black turned to grey in his mind and death retreated. Face didn't seem to have noticed the change, though. In fact, he seemed even more scared than before, his hand leaving Murdock's face to seek out a pulse at his neck. Murdock felt his heart beat against Face's fingers, still fast but firm and not fading. Sleep was rapidly pulling him down but Murdock wanted to be sure that fear had left his friend completely because his voice had sounded far, far too much like the whispered 'I'm sorry' that had been Face's last words. Mustering the last dregs of the strength left in him, Murdock managed a soft whisper.

"Face?"

The hand holding his tightened.

"Yeah." A surprised but pleased chuckle reached his ears. "Yeah, it's me, man." He could hear the smile and the tears in the words and it gave him just enough strength to twitch his mouth into a faint smile of his own before he drifted off again, wondering why he was trying to be strong for the sake of a dream.

Murdock woke slowly, drifting in limbo for a long while before the pain in his side and leg dragged him back to consciousness. He was still lying on the padding but the room was lighter now, even lighter than when he'd woken in the chair… How long ago? He couldn't be sure, but what did it matter? Who cared if he'd been there a few hours or a few days and who cared if the Devil had found the light switch again? Murdock's memory had returned with a cruel speed, flashing images of the room, the Devil, his friends and their deaths.

Nothing mattered anymore.

He could already feel the ache growing in his throat. How many tears could one person cry? And how long would this torturous illusion continue? He could feel a hand resting on his, gentle and warm and there was no way that was real. The Gargoyles wouldn't hold his hand… they'd break it… and the Devil's hand would be cracked and clammy and burn him with its freezing touch.

Murdock sighed and winced at the sharp stab of pain the simple action caused in his ribs. More memories rose, hazy and fragmented in his mind. He did recall, vaguely, a dark, dark place where he'd felt and heard and seen what he'd thought had been ghosts. He remembered wanting it to end, right then, in any way possible, begging, pleading, beseeching the darkness to snuff him out too, to let him go so he wouldn't be alone and the last shard of a broken promise. He'd thought he'd been in the padded room all that time but it seemed unlikely now with the light and the blanket he could feel covering him up to his chest.

Confused, Murdock cracked his eyes open, waiting for them to adjust to the brightness before he looked around. The first thing he noticed was the wall to his right, the plain unpadded wall. He turned with a grimace and started to make a mental note not to move his neck too much because that hurt too, but the note – heck, the whole dang mental notebook – was blown away by the sight of Hannibal sitting in a chair by the bed.

The colonel was looking down at him with a soft, encouraging smile and beyond him were Bosco and Face. B.A. was sitting in another chair, elbows on his knees, his big work-roughened hands fiddling with a familiar red cap. Face stood to the mechanic's left at the foot of the bed, his arms crossed and an unsure sort of frown creasing his brow. All three men had shadows under their eyes and a weary look that spoke of several sleepless nights but apart from that they seemed fine. Murdock's eyes moved back to Hannibal as the colonel spoke.

"Morning, Captain."

Something about this was very, very wrong. It was both wonderful and weird to see them there, looking at him like nothing had happened, not a trace of blood to be seen. He closed his eyes for a moment, going over what he knew because his mind had to have messed things up somewhere along the line. He remembered them dying, remembered it vividly and completely. He'd seen it happen, smelled the blood, closed their eyes with his own hands, heard Face's dying words and tasted his blood. Every sense was accounted for and had been present in that moment, which made it completely and undeniably real. So what was this?

Murdock opened his eyes again, hesitantly, almost expecting them to be gone and replaced with padded walls and pain again, but there they were. So this had to be the fake reality, the dream, he realized with a sinking heart. Maybe even the same dream in which he'd watched them move around a dingy hotel room under falling, tear-dewed stars and longed to cross over to wherever they were. But Hell had passed the test, had contained all five senses… that proved it with all the finality of a judge's gavel: Hell was real. He didn't even bother trying to check his senses now, not when it would mean dissolving the dream. The team must've seen something of his thoughts in his eyes because Face darted a look at Hannibal who spoke again, his voice a self-assured rumble.

"If you're awake enough, Murdock, I'd like to try something." Murdock blinked and rubbed his eyes with one stone-heavy hand, not daring to move his left as Hannibal's hand was still resting there. When they didn't disappear, Murdock cleared his raspy throat and spoke, surprised at how hard it was to form words past the desert that had moved in while he'd been sleeping.

"Tr-Try wh't?"

Hannibal's smile widened slightly at his response.

"I want to prove to you that we're real."

"I'd r-rather you didn't," Murdock managed to get out before a shifting of the sand in his throat had him coughing hard enough to make his chest feel like a bomb was going off inside it. Someone's arm helped him sit upright, pillows arranged behind him as a cup was held to his lips. He took several grateful gulps of blessedly cool water and was finally able to open his eyes again as the inferno in his chest died down to a throbbing ache. Hannibal set the cup on a table beside the bed before looking him in the eye and settling in his chair as the pilot leaned back against the headboard and pillows.

"Tell me what you're thinking, Captain, regarding all this." His gesture took in the small room and Murdock took a moment to look around, eyes lighting on the extra bunk, the window on the wall between the headboards, and the picture of a man with a halo on the opposite wall. He considered the question, trying to come up with the shortest answer possible because talking hurt.

"It's not real," was what he finally settled on and his eyes moved to Face who'd shifted nervously at his words. Hannibal didn't seem upset by his answer, though. He just nodded and continued.

"And how have you come to that conclusion?"

"I…" Murdock hesitated, swallowing back the pain of the memory. "I remember you dyin'… an' I know that was real."

"How?"

"If you really were Hannibal, you'd know how." Murdock was surprised at himself but the challenge had slipped out before he could think better of it. He'd told Hannibal before about how one sense always stayed linked to reality. If this really was the real Hannibal, he'd know that and know that it was how Murdock found the difference between truth and dreams. Murdock watched this Hannibal mockup closely for any signs of confusion but saw none. The older man sat up straight and took in a breath.

"Well, following your usual logic in these situations, would you say sight is or is not based in reality?"

Murdock felt a brief flutter of surprise at the answer before everything in him began to pull back from this. He didn't want to disprove this place, this light and safety. He'd stay here as long as he possibly could, even if that meant just watching them move around and talk to each other without interacting with him at all. At least he'd be able to see them alive and not pale and blood-soaked and swarmed by creatures with tiny glass teeth. Murdock shook his head, setting his jaw firmly and looking Hannibal in the eye.

"No. I'm not doing this." Murdock's eyes flicked to Face as the younger man shoved both hands through his hair and took in a breath steeped in frustration.

"Come on, man! How are we supposed to help you if you won't trust us?" Murdock couldn't help but let out a short, humorless laugh at that. He knew his wry smile probably looked more like a grimace but he let it spread across his face anyway, shaking his head again.

"Trust?" he rasped. "You trusted me… look where that got you!" Face flinched visibly and Murdock felt a pang of guilt hit him with the force of a bullet. He lowered his voice, muttering sullenly, "There is no trust in Hell." Hannibal raised a hand to silence Face's half-formed retort and fixed a steady gaze on Murdock.

"Tell me, Captain, have I ever once lied to you?" Another bitter laugh escaped his lips as Murdock thought back.

"Yeah, Hannibal, you have!" Anger was boiling up inside him and Murdock let it, relishing the feel of something other than fear and pain and letting his voice rise to a hoarse shout. "You said we were a team! You said you cared! You swore that if any one of us were captured or in trouble that you'd do anything you could to help us but you didn't! You just stood there, Hannibal!" They were all staring at him now in varying degrees of shock and hurt. Murdock could feel his energy slipping away again, leaving him feeling lost and betrayed. They'd been there, stood in that room, watched all of that happen to him and not done a thing. Before he could stop himself, Murdock was speaking again, his voice still raised to a near-shout but now softened by the threat of tears in his throat.

"You just stood there! You didn't stop them! I begged you to stop them and you wouldn't even look at me! Like I was some sick animal you didn't want to see put down! You didn't even try to f-fight them!" Murdock could feel the flood waters rising in him again but he didn't have the strength to stop them. His family was sitting around him like nothing had happened, telling him they cared about him when they hadn't even tried to help. They were Rangers. They could've broken free from those henchmen in seconds but all they'd done was struggled lamely, more fidgeted than anything else. The first hints of blurry tears appeared in his vision and Murdock turned his gaze to the blanket on his lap and blinked them away, his voice lowering as he asked softly, "Why didn't you try? N-None of you tried…"

When they didn't answer right away, he looked up and found Hannibal watching him with such fury in his eyes that Murdock had to look away. He addressed Face instead, keeping his eyes downcast, too scared to look up at them again and find hatred in their eyes. He deserved it, he knew that, but it hurt.

"Face… I-I'm sorry I called you. I'm sorry I called you into a trap an' I'm-m sorry I couldn't get out t-t'save you but…" He paused. The silence was boring into him, accusing and despising. It forced his voice lower still, making him sound pitiful and child-like and he hated it but he had to know, had to ask. "Y-You didn't have to die. If… If you were so mad at me, you could've jus' left me there. You could've left an'… an' then you'd be safe."

"Murdock-" Hannibal started, but the pilot cut him off. This had to be said. He needed to know why.

"Why didn't you leave?" A tear fell onto the clean white sheets and Murdock sniffled softly, trying to get the words out past the tears. "You c-could've left. The guy holding Bosco was h-half his size… you could've just left." A thought occurred to him that drew a sob from his throat. He looked up tentatively, momentarily meeting Hannibal's icy blue gaze. "Did… Did you w-want to see them h-hurt m-" He didn't get a chance to finish.

"Murdock!" Hannibal's hands clenched into fists as the Colonel barked his name, making him flinch and silencing him instantly.

When the older man finally spoke, it was with such rage trembling in his voice that Murdock had to close his eyes for a moment and remind himself that anger was so, so much better than kindness after what he'd done to them. But the words that reached him, growled and dangerous, were not the angry accusations he'd expected.

"Murdock… If I had been in there, if I'd been standing right there when those bastards were torturing you… I would've killed every one of them with my bare hands." Murdock glanced up and saw for the first time that the murderous fury in those blue eyes wasn't aimed at him. Hannibal's expression softened slightly as he added, "You know I would have, that any one of us would have." Confused, Murdock glanced at the others, seeing their grim-faced agreement before looking back to Hannibal.

"Then wh-why-"

"I didn't stop them because I wasn't there, Murdock. We were never caught by Brenner and we were never in that room with you. We came as soon as we could and we got you out. Those men weren't us, they were imposters." Murdock only frowned at him, deeply confused and suddenly afraid again. This story of imposters and tricks was confusing and amazing and far, far too good to be true.

"We're alive, son," Hannibal spoke again. "I want to prove that to you." Fear coiled around Murdock's heart, cold and sharp, bringing more stinging tears to his eyes.

"I don't want this to be a dream…" He shook his head, trying to make them understand. "I don't want you to disappear. I don't want to be alone. Please," he pleaded, seeing Hannibal's determination and fearing it deeply. "Please, don't make me do this." Face and Bosco were tense; Murdock could see them in his peripheral vision. They were tense and fidgeting and wanted to speak but were letting Hannibal take the lead. Hannibal leaned forward, catching the pilot's downcast gaze.

"This is not a dream. I swear to you, it's not." The feel of that hand, warm and strong on his arm was making Murdock's hands shake as he ducked his head, taking in a shuddering breath before speaking.

"N-Not t'you… but if I w-wake up…"

"You are awake."

"Please…" Murdock closed his eyes, pleading in a voice that had dropped to a trembling whisper. "Please, d-don't send me back there…."

"Murdock, I-"

"Don't make me go, please."

"Murdock, listen to me."

The rocking that Murdock had begun a few seconds before stilled and he looked up at Hannibal's gentle gaze. The colonel paused for a moment as if to gather his thoughts and find the right words before he spoke, calmly and soothingly.

"Wouldn't it be better to take the risk? Isn't it worth it for even the slimmest chance of getting us back again?"

Murdock blinked back miserable tears and let his gaze wander across his family. Bosco's eyes were downcast, staring at the cap in his hands. Face had his arms crossed and was biting his lip, a pained look on his face. Hannibal, watching him with a fatherly concern that pushed more tears from Murdock's eyes as he shook his head softly.

"It's n-not a sl-slim chance, Hannibal. It's n-no chance."

"Only if you refuse. Let me show you." The hand on his arm squeezed gently and Murdock felt his ribs ache at the soft sobs that escaped him as he blinked through hazy tears, willing them to understand. Face took a step forward, speaking with a tight voice.

"This isn't working, Hannibal."

"It's jus' hurtin' him, man." Bosco added but Hannibal's eyes remained focused on Murdock's.

"I jus-st w-want t'stay," Murdock begged. "Please, can-n't I jus' s-stay?"

"Yes." Murdock felt his heart soar for a brief but wonderful few seconds before Hannibal continued. "But only if you let me show you how." A sigh slipped past his abused throat and Murdock hung his head in defeat, too exhausted to fight any more. Even if this dream was dissolved, he could always try to dream again. Or maybe if he woke up, the Devil would finally put an end to all this and let him go into that velvet blackness of death where he could rest without hurting. Hannibal's voice came again, gentle and encouraging.

"Just trust me… and focus on sight. Do you see Hell here, Murdock?"

The pilot lifted his head slowly and took a moment to scan across the vivid hallucination again. It looked real but it couldn't be. His vision had been blurry and shadowed at the time but he'd seen them fall. He'd seen the bloody gunshot wounds on their heads, their blood across the white floor, Face's blood slipping from his lips as he'd tried to speak, tried to apologize… for what? For dying? For leaving him there alone in Hell in direct violation of their biggest and most important promise ever: to go together or not at all? Murdock looked over at Face and found the younger man's concerned gaze fixed on him. Mind returning to Hannibal's question, Murdock could only shake his head, feeling sorrow welling up in his eyes again.

"Not real," he muttered. "S-Sight's not real."

"Hearing?" Hannibal asked and again Murdock shook his head.

"Not… Not possible."

Bosco was feeling along the edge of the cap's brim now, large hands moving nervously as he watched the conversation rock back and forth between the colonel and captain. A rough hand taking his pulled Murdock's attention back to Hannibal as the silver-haired man held up their clasped hands.

"Touch?" Hannibal smiled at him. "I know how you boys stayed with me that time in Iraq. Face said he thought you'd have my hand memorized before I woke up, so you should be able to tell." Frowning, Murdock pushed the pain away for a moment to examine that hand closer. It was true. He had stayed by Hannibal's bedside for days after the colonel had been shot on a mission. It'd been terrifying to think about losing the man who'd brought them all together and was like a father to them. On top of that, Murdock had had no idea if Hannibal's death would give the Army's higher-ups an excuse to send him back to the hospitals, needles, and treatments and away from the family he'd grown to love.

It had been a long, awful couple of days before Hannibal had woken up, but the memories weren't what caught and held Murdock's attention now. It was the hand grasping his, the work-worn palm, the nicks and scars from various fights, and the lines he'd traced hour after anxious hour that made him shake his head sadly. There were more details here than before. More than when he'd held this same hand and wept under a sky of shadow and Inkling laughter, but that only confirmed it. This did feel like Hannibal's hand, and so, this wasn't real either.

Or was it?

What if the Devil had brought Hannibal's body back? What if this hand was Hannibal's but Hannibal was dead, his body being used as a tool to torture Murdock further. Angry tears blurred his vision and he glared at the face that couldn't be Hannibal's. The Devil just looked at him with a fatherly tenderness that, knowing it was him and not Hannibal, made Murdock feel sick. But the voice that spoke still sounded like the colonel.

"Check my pulse."

Murdock did as he was told, hesitantly and not without suspicion, but he did it. The steady beat he found there made his eyes widen in shock. Carefully, he traced the pulse back up to the familiar fingers, not breaking contact just in case the Devil had substituted his own wrist in Hannibal's place. Pulse connected to wrist, to palm, to fingers and back again every time. Murdock looked up at Hannibal and the colonel nodded to their hands.

"Is touch based in reality?" Murdock could only shake his head. Face turned to Hannibal, arms still crossed and his expression pained.

"I don't see how this is helping, Boss."

"Patience, Face. We still have two more senses to go." The colonel lowered their hands back to the bedsheet, not pulling away but just setting touch aside for now. "Now comes the tricky part. What can you smell?" Murdock tried but couldn't smell much of anything, just a hint of blood he assumed was left over from a nosebleed and the slightest whiff of something familiar he couldn't place.

"N-Nothin' much," he answered softly as he realized this probably meant scent was reality based and this was all just a huge, detailed dream. Bosco and Hannibal turned to look at Face who fidgeted in his place by the foot of the bed.

"You sure this'll work? I mean, there have to be a million different combinations I've tried before. Do you really think he can remember this one?" Face asked Hannibal who shrugged.

"We'll never know if we don't try."

"Got to try it, Faceman," Bosco spoke up. "It's the only plan we've got right now."

Face turned and took a cloth from a nearby side table. He looked apprehensive but tossed it to Murdock who caught it instinctively. The instant he did, the same familiar scent he'd caught briefly before rushed back and this time he remembered it. It was Face's most recent experiment with cologne, mixing different smells to try and find the most effective one for dates and scams. The whole process had earned him quite a lot of friendly ribbing from the others but even Bosco had to admit, Face's method had been successful on more than one occasion. This was a smell only Face had created, not something store bought, so it could only exist if Face made it… and Face was dead. So scent was false too.

What about taste? It was the last sense and the only thing he'd tasted since waking up was the water which could easily have been the Devil trying to trick him. Or just trying to keep him alive because Murdock could tell he'd lost weight and his mouth was still parched so he was probably dehydrated too. Deciding he might as well get it over with, Murdock lifted the cloth to his face and took in a breath through his mouth. The clinging, sweet scent of the cologne coated the roof of his mouth in an instant, offering both smell and taste and sending him into another coughing fit. Agony flared in his chest again and the delicious water was once more offered and accepted.

When the pain cleared, Murdock found his mind scrambling to understand the implications of what had happened. This hallucination was too real. Was it some new kind? Was he really so far gone that his mind was experiencing a new hallucination that was indistinguishable from reality? Murdock could feel his panic rising and was both thankful and bewildered when Hannibal spoke again.

"So, Murdock, which of these senses is real?"

"N-None of them!"

"Or all of them," Hannibal came back. Murdock froze. "Think back. Remember the details of what you saw and I promise you, you'll begin to see the differences between those men who died and us."

Murdock stared down at his hands in his lap, mind reeling. His vision had been blurry and distorted when Brenner had brought in the team but he remembered B.A.'s dark skin, his distinctive Mohawk, Hannibal's tall, sturdy figure, Face's eyes closing as his blood-covered chest had stilled. Those eyes had been so bright with fear and at the same time, their gentle brown had been faded by pain.

Gentle brown….

Face's eyes were blue.

Murdock's gaze snapped up to Face and he let out a short gasp of disbelief at the sight of familiar blue eyes looking back at him. He turned to Hannibal and remembered the too-round face of the man he'd seen die, the false-Hannibal. B.A. shifted in his chair and Murdock searched his face, finding the strong jaw and worried but stern glare the other Bosco had lacked. They were real. They hadn't died, maybe hadn't even been in there at all because Face's arms looked fine despite the Devil's jabs that he'd broken one to keep the young man in check.

Murdock could only stare mutely as B.A. shifted his chair closer and Face took a seat on the edge of the bed, watching him warily. The lump in Murdock's throat had returned and was pushing insistently, causing fresh tears to fill his eyes. He could feel relief, vast, incalculable relief, but with it was a bitter pain. They were alive… but for however long it had been, he'd believed them to be dead and that had been horrible beyond thought. Face was moving closer now, concern creasing his brow, but Murdock couldn't think of what to do to reassure him. The pilot's every breath was sharp and painful and it was as if all the tears he'd shed in the past few days had returned at once to blur his vision and sting his eyes.

A strange giddy feeling joined the aching relief and when a hand met his shoulder, he couldn't help but surge forward, ignoring the stabbing pain in his ribcage in favor of enveloping Face in the strongest hug he could manage, feeling the solid, firm reality of his friend in his arms. Face returned the embrace with a startled but overjoyed laugh.

"So… do you believe us now?" he asked, but Murdock found he couldn't answer. Ecstatic laughter was mixing with tears and coming out as a stream of hysterical, choked chuckles. "Murdock?" Face sounded a little worried and Murdock pulled back, laughter fading to a few soft sobbing breaths. One hand staying on Face's shoulder, Murdock moved the other to the young man's chest. He ran his fingers over the place he'd seen the blood, the gunshot wound, and felt the unbroken fabric and the unmarred flesh beneath with a trembling hand. He sniffed and rubbed his eyes as his grin widened and he looked up to find Face smiling hesitantly at him. "You okay there, buddy?" Murdock let out another short laugh, shaking his head in disbelief as he finally found his voice again, face aching from the smile that spread across his bruised cheeks.

"You… You're alive!" This time it was Face's turn to laugh as he gave Murdock a gentle shove.

"Of course I am, man! That's what I've been trying to tell you!" Face's wide smile faltered and a wounded look came into his eyes. Murdock found himself pulled into a second, gentler hug.

"Man… don't you dare, ever, scare me like that again." Face's voice was strained in his ear and Murdock let out another short laugh. "I mean it, Murdock," Face continued, apparently taking his chuckling as dismissive laughter. "I haven't slept properly in days, man. You owe me ten years of my life back for all this."

Murdock let out a sound he wasn't sure was more laugh or sob as Face sat back, one hand still firm on the pilot's arm as his attention turned to Bosco who'd been silent for so long, Murdock was beginning to wonder if he'd forgotten how to speak. The bigger man fidgeted under the pilot's stare and a glare formed on his brow as Murdock's eyes moved to the cap, then back to the dark eyes, a new, knowing smile slowly quirking his lips.

"Aw... Fool doesn' even have to talk to tease me about it!" Bosco stood up and moved forward, wrapping his big arms around Murdock's thin form in a quick embrace. "Yeah, I was worried, a'right? Who else is gonna make me tapenade with toast points, huh?" Murdock beamed and brought both hands up to B.A.'s face as the other man pulled back. He took a moment to again feel the unmarred skin at the big man's forehead where no bullet had pierced before grinning widely and scrubbing both hands across Bosco's Mohawk as he laughed. Murdock's smile didn't fade in the least when the big man swatted his hands away with the red cap.

"Cut that out, Fool! I already owe you for makin' us worry!" The words were said with no sting of anger whatsoever and B.A. actually smiled as he stuck the cap on Murdock's shaggy head, playfully slapping the brim down over the pilot's eyes before moving back to his seat. Murdock chuckled giddily, settling his cap more firmly on his head and lifting the brim so he could see Hannibal. The colonel smiled warmly at him, relief visible in his eyes as he leaned forward to meet Murdock's hands, letting the captain brush shaking fingers over his unmarked brow.

"No blood, no bullet, Murdock. We're all safe. And there's something else you should know too." Hannibal looked intently into Murdock's eyes and the pilot's smile faded slightly. "Those men who died… their blood is not on your hands." Murdock looked down, hands moving to his lap, frowning past his tears and waiting for Hannibal to explain. He'd spoken too soon. Whether they'd been his team or not, he'd caused their deaths, hadn't he? Hannibal leaned down, catching Murdock's eye again. "Hayes and Brenner lied. They set the clock back. No doubt they would've killed those men whether you'd completed the task or not but you did." The colonel's face broke into a wide grin, eyes shining with pride as he moved to rest his hand on the pilot's shoulder. "You won that bet, Captain. Twenty-four hours of silence…" Hannibal shook his head in proud disbelief. "If I still had any pull as colonel, I'd give you every medal of honor there is." Murdock felt his smile grow impossibly wider, vision blurring once more as Hannibal pulled him into a warm embrace.

"Welcome home, son."

That marked the end of any coherent thought Murdock could have for a long while. He just returned Hannibal's embrace, not sure if he was laughing or crying into the older man's shoulder but not caring either way. His heavy limbs felt a thousand pounds lighter, buoyed upward by the joy filling him. Every bit of him seemed to be filling with light. The shattered mirrors, the fractured memories, every inch of the darkness his mind had become, illuminated with brilliant happiness as the reality of what hadn't happened finally began to sink in.

A large hand rested on his shoulder and Murdock brought his own hand up to meet the dark-skinned fingers. Face's hand took his at Hannibal's back and the pilot held on, allowing the closeness of his team to banish the fear he'd felt for so, so long. Murdock could smell the cigar smoke on Hannibal's shirt, feel the strength in B.A.'s hand, hear Face's happy chuckles as the younger man let Murdock weave his fingers between his friend's, holding on and just laughing and crying into Hannibal's shoulder.

After a few more minutes of blissful contact, Hannibal sat back and Murdock beamed at his team, looking at each in turn as they all spoke at once. B.A. was gruffly scolding him for being captured again; Face's voice was heavy with relief as he tried to explain what had happened on their end and where they were now. Hannibal's comments tossed in here and there completed the happy buzz that Murdock wasn't really absorbing but loved anyway. This was such a stark contrast to where he'd been not long before. That dark Hell where he'd felt so alone and cold that he'd longed for the end he thought would bring him home.

This was warm, real, bright.

This was home.

With that realization came a sudden and overwhelming exhaustion as his body was finally able to turn its attention inward and recognize just how hurt he really was. His stomach ached to the point of nausea with hunger, every inch of him throbbed or stabbed with pain, his leg radiating a sharp ache all the way up to his hip when he moved, and his head was starting to join the drum solo led by his heart, with his leg providing the bass notes. Murdock blinked dizzily and felt Hannibal's hands on his shoulders as he swayed.

An unspoken agreement was reached between the team and Murdock felt them lying him down again, pulling the blanket up and leaving his cap in place on his head for now. A brief fear fluttered in his chest at the thought of sleeping again. Last time he'd slept, they'd vanished, hadn't they? That or he'd woken to terrible pain and panicked shouts. This could still be a dream. One of those dreams where everything seems right until you wake up and realize you've been talking to dead men all night. Murdock forced his eyes open and found Hannibal's face, feeling the colonel's hand take his again.

"Rest, Murdock. We'll be right here when you wake, I promise." And somehow, Murdock believed him as he found himself drifting off into the first bright, restful sleep he'd had in what felt like a lifetime.

Author's Note: The long awaited fluff! Hang in there, though, we're not done with the bad guys yet….